Blank
by ace.sodapop
Summary: Role reversal. Kuchiki Rukia, 14, high school student. Kurosaki Ichigo, shinigami. Everything gets a bit muddled from there. [CHAPTER 6: SCHOOL DAZE!]
1. The Death Strawberry

**Author's Notes**: I'm fairly certain that there'll be OOC buzz, so before you read, realize I am essentially writing _different people_ onto these characters. Ichigo is not so immature with 100+ years under his belt, and Rukia is not nearly so deep and full of endless sadness without experiencing Rukongai and all that afterlife stuff. They still have their core personalities, they're still surrounded by the same people (sort of), but circumstances and setting can and does change a person. If Rukia seems too week and wussy to you, she is. And if Ichigo is acting too much like Kaien and less like a really ornery tight ass 15-year old --- well. Yeah.

Also…I wasn't sure of how much to change. The Kurosaki family is officially a Soul Society family – non-Rukongai, mind you – but should they be one of the four great noble houses? Could you _imagine _them as one? I thought not. And then I was thinking about the Karakura gang, and if I should perhaps make Tatsuki and Renji switch places and whatnot. (Though, as you may notice, I don't have any uncertainties at all about some characters, such as Inoue.) And besides that, there aren't even half of the numbers in Karakura required to do a real switch around with the shinigami cast, so everything would be split up and choppy and very, very confusing. I really have no idea yet on what exactly to do, and it would help an awful lot if you had any opinion on it:D

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**Blank**

**Chapter 1: The Death Strawberry

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**

About four or five of them – no, definitely four now. All the same type – thick-headed, brutish, ugly. Dumber than a rock on top of all that, too. There was little to feel sorry for, even after seeing their stupefied, shocked faces staring at the pavement, where their ringleader's skull connected quite strongly to it.

"Wh…what the! What was that? Who did that to Yama-bro?" One of them shrieked – the far-back one. With the greasy hair. And – ohgod was that a hairy mole?

The others looked seriously chilled as they looked about for the suspect. There was a little girl standing and staring at them, but they quickly wrote the possibility of it off, seeing as how she couldn't possibly have done such powerful damage –

"It was I." The same 'little girl' was still standing, staring coolly at them with large violet eyes that pierced their skin and carved their mark sharply in like a thousand miniature sharpened knives. At least, that was how they felt under the intimidating gaze. They could hardly reveal that unsettling emotion to the others, or even themselves, for that matter. In a typical testosterone-fueled action, they puffed up their chests and leered down at the opponent – all four feet and 10 inches of her.

"What d'you think you're doing, huh?" Said one still-disbelieving ugly (because that was what she had decided to name them all at that moment. Uglies. It worked surprisingly well. This one was now Ugly No. 1). "Just get outta here now before you get hurt, little brat!"

The little brat's left brow twitched at the words that were used to address her. She allowed herself to calm down for a moment before smiling irritably, a vein twitching by her temple.

"What," she breathed, "is THAT?" And she pointed one petite finger at the broken vase behind her. A hole the size of a baseball was etched onto one side of the glass, with shards and water and dead flower petals mingling by it.

The Uglies merely sneered at the question, becoming convinced that the girl had not done anything and would not try anything at all. "It's an offering to that person who died recently around here."

"And why is it broken?" Her voice had suddenly become quieter; gentler.

"Why do you think?" Ugly No. 2 chortled, and impudently dropped the skateboard he held to the ground before him. He turned around as if to nonchalantly skate off and end the conversation right there, but was stalled by a sudden blow to the back of the head, a quick flash to their eyes. Ugly No. 2 ("Miji-bro!" cried Ugly No. 1 in contrast) rolled his eyes to the back of his head, a goofy smile on his face, and dropped like a dead weight, face-first, to kiss the ground.

There was no mistake now on who was the culprit. Ugly No. 1 and Ugly No. 3 snarled angrily at the girl and charged at her at once. The girl swiftly crouched down and swung her foot roundabout at Ugly No. 1's ankle. He fell down in a clumsy heap. Temporarily disabled, the girl turned her attention to Ugly No. 3, who had raised his own skateboard above his head as if to swing at the girl. She had other plans in mind, however, and kicked out straight at the stomach. Ugly No. 3 bent over in pain, clutching his stomach. The airborne skateboard landed neatly on the ground for the tiny assailant to push it forward with her foot straight at Ugly No. 3's fat, slightly hairy, ankles. He yelped and fell over backwards, right on top of 'Yama-bro'.

"Now," she said coldly. "Apologize to the spirit for whom this vase and flower was for."

"WE'RE SORRY WE'RE SORRY WE'RE SORRYYY!" The only two conscious members (although not exempt from bleeding noses and cut lips) could hardly stop the screams from ripping out of their throats before scrambling up from the pavement to half-run, half-stumble away.

"Thank you." An elderly man, almost entirely bald, with thick bottle cap glasses and a bent back, smiled pleasantly at his defender. "I thought those boys would never leave me alone."

"It's no problem, sir." She bowed respectfully to him. "Please, rest your soul as soon as possible!"

"I will, don't worry. Take care of yourself, young lady." His eyes twinkled in an almost fatherly affection as he watched the dark-haired girl walk away. Her steps were as light as air and with all the grace of a dancer.  
-----

Rukia entered the Kuchiki Manor as quietly as she could; from an early age, after all, she had been trained to act as a lady. The lady of the house had died when Rukia was very, very young; too young to remember what she looked like outside of photo albums and how she acted. Rukia was the only living female of the Kuchiki's now; she was to carry all the grace and nobility that could be shared amongst fourteen women. It was tiring, but Rukia refused to break under such frivolous pressure. She could take it. She'd prove to the rest of her family how strong she could truly be.

One of the maids approached her and quietly inquired whether Miss Kuchiki would like dinner heated up and delivered to her room, as the family had already had dinner without her. Rukia politely declined, lying through her teeth by saying she had eaten at a friend's house. She was about to shyly slink off and away from the maid's probing eyes, but was interceded for one more moment.

"Are you alright, Miss Kuchiki? You look rather sick. And paler than usual!"

The petite teenager waved it off and hastily climbed the stairs to her room, her stomach churning from a mixture of hunger and a sick, terrible feeling unrelated to health. When she closed the door and looked about her, her stomach reinforced its complaints by threatening her with an ominous rumble. Her eyes widened for a second before she hurled towards the bathroom and threw herself – or rather, the pitifully small contents of her insides – down the toilet.

So consumed was Rukia by this activity, she did not notice a strange figure that had just entered her room. He _melted_ out of the wall in a strange, foreboding light that eclipsed all other light in the room. His eyes were drawn and tense, apparently looking for something, when he was distracted by the sound of Rukia's retching in the bathroom, door closed.

He stuck only his head through the wooden door, melting as easily as he had done before (melting might not aptly describe what it was he was doing, but it's the best one can think of seeing how it is PHYSICALLY IMPOSSIBLE). His naturally scowling face was scrunched up in a combination of intrigue and disgust, and he said, to himself more than the girl (for he did not think she could hear him, and how very wrong he was), "Man, that looks disgusting! Like that birthday cake Inoue made for me last year. Wonder what got to you?" He mused loudly at Rukia, who tensed at the first sound of the voice. She immediately stopped vomiting and turned slowly around. There was a floating head in the door. She dully took a moment to slow this train of thought down and repeat it to herself carefully, as if to verify if it made any sense **at all**. _There was a fucking head in the middle of the door._

"HYAAAAA!" Rukia screamed and did an impromptu karate move that was sort of like a flying kick and roundabout twist together. The head had only a split-second to register the shock on his face before being shoved out of the bathroom and flying backwards into the wall he had come from.

"OW OW FUCK OW." Said he with much eloquence. The black-clad boy felt his face to see if anything was broken, and felt something wet. He had a nosebleed! From one measly kick from a little girl that was probably not even half his body mass! He was grumbling out random chains of curses as he brushed himself off when Rukia threw open the bathroom door and fervently looked about her room with a crazed look in her eyes. That crazed look intensified when she spotted a bright orange head that had been floating in her door a moment ago. The boy gulped without really knowing why, but abruptly forgot his fear (fear, where did that come from) in lieu of an epiphany.

"Wait, you can see me?"

Rukia halted the punch she was about to land on his gut, surprised by the question. Her eyes narrowed. "…Yes. Of course I can. Why shouldn't I be able to?"

The boy stood up straight and idly scratched his head. "Well, because I'm a shini-UOOOF!"

"Fool!" Rukia laughed triumphantly. "You should not have left your guard down! And I could care less what you are, so strangely dressed and all. Just get out of my room now, you sick burglar-pervert!" Ichigo snarled from his sprawled position on the floor, patience quickly ebbing away.

"'PERVERT'! That's rich coming from a little punk like you, interrupting me and trying to beat me down when I'm clearly your superior by at least a 100 years!"

Rukia's left eye twitched, ever so slightly. She had no patience for liars with nothing to offer but nonsense. She cracked her knuckles, preparing for a final blow, but was stalled by the door opening to reveal the tall, intimidating man that Rukia referred to as "Nii-sama".

Dark, emotionless eyes swept through the room in one seamless action before reluctantly settling on the empty space above Rukia's head. The 'shinigami', as he had called himself, whistled in a low pitch at the daunting aura of the man. "Wuooo, so scary "

"Shut up!" Rukia hissed at him viciously, almost channeling the same presence of Kuchiki Byakuya. The said man stared levelly at the direction where Rukia had yelled at, his facial expression never changing.

"To whom are you yelling at?"

Rukia paled and clumsily bowed before her elder brother. "I-it's no one – but --- you can't see him, Byakuya-nii-sama?" Her voice rose anxiously at the end of the sentence, curiosity breaking into fear. Byakuya continued to stare straight at the empty space where the boy stood. Said person was sweating slightly under his blind gaze. He could tell Byakuya could not see him (not even a speck of spiritual energy! Where did she get it then? he mused), but there was no denying that that piercing gaze made him feel as naked and visible as daylight.

"See what? You must be less vague when questioning me." Rukia flushed.

"I – I wasn't trying to –"

"Keep the noise down." Byakuya cut her off and smoothly turned around and left, closing the door behind him without even looking back.

"Man, what a scary guy." The shinigami said idly. "And he didn't even look at you once! That's kind of cold, eh? Brothers should be nicer to their little sisters! But maybe times have changed or something…"

"Nii-sama couldn't see you." Rukia interjected once more. "I will accept that you are not a normal human so…" Her lips trailed off, but her idiosyncratic eyes plainly asked him: WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU?

"I was going to tell you until you kept on rudely interrupting me." The boy scowled, rubbing his sore cheek. "But…I'm a shinigami. You know, god of death. I'm one of those sent from Soul Society to cleanse impure souls and whatnot." The boy waited for her response with a casual calm. Rukia's response was two blinks and an uncomprehending stare. He stood there smiling smugly at her until his brain slowly realized that the long stare was not of awe but of apprehensive disbelief.

"You know," Rukia said with a small pause, "You could've just told me the truth and said you were trying to peek on me or steal some family heirlooms or whatever. I would accept it, you know. I might even have directed you to the 'Priceless Family Heirlooms' room for your troubles. You didn't need to take such effort inventing that big tale for me."

The orange-haired shinigami sweated a little. "You don't believe me? You believe in ghosts but not shinigami?"

"Of course I believe you, scary pervert-brat!" Rukia said. "Now GET OUT OF MY ROOM. Punk."

"AUGHH! That's it! I won't take any more of this 'pervert' crap!" The boy made some quick, obscure hand movements before lifting two fingers at Rukia's forehead.

"First Restraint!" He barked. "OBSTRUCTION!"  
-----

**Chapter 1 – part 2 - : The Death Strawberry (REPRISE)**

"LET GO OF ME NOW."

The so-called 'shinigami', carefully deaf, merely increased the volume of his tuneless humming by a miniscule amount and continued flipping through the pages of the comic book he'd found lying by the bed.

"I'M GOING TO KILL YOU BASTARD."

"Wuoohhhh!" Rukia perked her desperate head up, thinking that the stupid boy had finally realized the weight of her words and his truly terrible judgement – but he had merely gotten to an interesting part in her precious manga she had picked up a few days ago.

"Don't fall for it, Tuxedo Kamen, it's a trap!" He pressed his sharp face closer to the glossy pages, looking for all the world enraptured by the tiny one (world) he held in his hands. Rukia felt hot blood begin to rise. A second later, and another gasp emerged from her captor.

"That's stupid, Sailor Moon, stupid! Tch, girls are freakin' useless, they never do anything right!"

"RRRRRGHHH."

Finally, a reaction. He blinked, and looked down at his prisoner. "Heya. Something botherin' you?"

"GET OFF ME YOU PERVERTED SICK NASTY FOUL INGRATE PUNK BASTARD FAT-HEADED OLD PIECE OF—"

"Hey, hey! There's no need for all that, and I don't feel like moving, it's very comfortable here!"

"YOUR ASS IS BONY IT IS DIGGING INTO MY SPINE."

"Tch, not like your back's any better!" The boy, whose face seemed to have a natural magnet pulling his jowls constantly downwards, scowled and deepened his frown. He made his point by shimmying a bit and digging his rump a little deeper into Rukia's spine. Her face made a ridiculous expression that was only matched by the strangely determined one on his.

"Your spine isn't a spine at all, it's as sharp as my zanpakatou, yeesh. They feed you around here?"

"GAHHHHGG."

"Hm?" His eyes swiveled and focused elsewhere, and saw the rather dumpy-looking man floating slightly above the bed, looking at the two and smiling in a dopey sort of way.

"Oh, not you AGAIN." Rukia moaned, her tone adopting an almost-whine.

Jerkface (she didn't have her captor's name, and had already used up her monthly limit for "ugly") slowly pushed himself up and out of his sitting position on her back, and made his way towards the ghost. The said being felt the simplicity of his smile slip away, replaced by a nervous edge to it. The nervous smile turned into one of horror at the sight of the big (HUGE, HUGE, WHAT ON EARTH WAS THAT Rukia's mind began repeating to herself in a crazy alarm mantra) sword Jerkface lifted out of the sheath at his side.

"Ru-chan, what is he going to do?" The bespectacled spirit asked in a shrill voice. Rukia was about to echo those exact sentiments (minus the stupid nickname her ghost had given her) when the boy suddenly paused and turned to the immobile girl on the floor and shot her a curious look, sword lifted in mid-strike ("I don't wanna go to hell!" I don't wanna!").

"Wait, you know this guy? You actually took the time to introduce yourself and give him your name?" He didn't even bother to wait for a reply, only gave one loud snort, and quickly stabbed the hilt of the sword into the center of the ghost's forehead. He didn't even notice the short gasp Rukia gave out, so concentrated did he look. He closed his eyes for a brief, pregnant moment, and when they reopened, fiery brown eyes stared down at the terrified man, paired with a cocky smile.

"Don't worry," He said fiercely, eyebrows still knitted and so creating an intense, but still convincing, smile. "You're not going to hell. You're going to a way better place than that. Take care!"

A circle of light appeared around the ghost, who happened to look faintly calmer now, and proceeded to envelop him entirely in it. A blue-tinged color emanated and filled up the large room whilst the ghost quickly sank into the light as if it were quicksand. Seconds passed, and the light in the room disappeared to be replaced by a heavy emptiness. Both of the two people inside were silent, though one was mostly shocked into it, while the other was of the smug variety.

"Believe me now?" Jerkface prodded with a smirk. "I just sent that guy to the afterlife. Well, I mean, you know, the REAL afterlife. It's a 'soul burial', so a restless spirit can leave this world for the next world, which is Soul Society, whiiiich happens to be where I'm from!"

"That still doesn't explain why you broke into my room." Rukia replied dully, still thinking too one-tracked.

"I DIDN'T BREAK INTO YOUR ROOM GODDAMNIT—" Jerkface huffed and abruptly halted his tirade. He cast his angry face about him, allowing some confusion to settle in. "Actually, I'm not sure why I came here in the first place. All I know is that I was following a Hollow – that's a bad spirit, see – and the scent kept getting stronger, and I felt it being strongest from here, but then all of a sudden it disappeared and I couldn't feel its presence at all…" He seemed to be talking mostly to himself now, and faded away into mutterings and lots of mumbling, while continually shifting his narrow eyes about the (tastefully!) pink, bunny-motif room.

So absorbed was the shinigami, he did not seem to hear the unearthly shriek that pierced through all four walls of the room and crudely stabbed its path all the way straight into the tiny girl's tightly clenched stomach. She felt sick and nauseous all at once, without any idea why except for that monstrous scream and the frightening, large presence it had manifested was the root cause behind it.

"H-hey! JERKFACE!" Oops. She had meant to say 'shinigami'. Oh, well, Freudian slip, it happens to everyone.

"What?" He said blankly, and Rukia couldn't believe his impudence (much less the fact that he had actually answered to that pseudonym she impulsively blurted out).

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, _WHAT_, DID YOU HEAR THAT?"

A dense pause. "Er…what?"

Rukia bit back an exasperated scream. "**YOU –** " But a second shriek interrupted her, and this time the boy definitely heard it, for his face took on an unusual pale pallor, and he gripped the enormous sword sheathed at his side. He seemed to be thinking intensely and rapidly to himself, while darting odd, confounded looks over at Rukia's direction on the floor. Rukia had no time to notice these, however, as she was too preoccupied being _scared shitless for her life_.

There was a silence after that. Rukia watched Jerkface struggle against himself for a bit, concentrating extremely hard but apparently unsuccessful. After some time of that, he let out an enraged, frustrated yell and shot Rukia a supremely suspicious look.

"Now, look here, how exactly did you—" But it was useless; another scream shot into the night sky, infinitely higher-pitched than the other one, and only a modicum less scary. Rukia shivered. It had come from inside the large Kuchiki mansion. _One of the maids_, Rukia thought to herself with sick anxiety.

The shinigami grit his teeth and flew out of the room at an incredible speed.

"Wait!" Rukia struggled in vain against her invisible bindings. "WAIT!"

Her words did succeed in making him pause in his step, but he wasn't about to obey them. "For what?" He turned only a little bit so Rukia could only see the profile of his face, the sharp angle of his nose sloping downwards to an unpleasant sneer of a mouth. "What do you think you can do? Just stay there, everything'll be fine, I promise!"

Rukia knew in his clumsy, teenage boy way (despite what he claimed about having a century over on her) that he was trying to make her feel better, and one would normally feel a bit secure knowing their lives were in the hands of a strong, powerful shinigami (albeit unstable and immature) with a butcher knife for a sword, but all Rukia could feel was that slowly sinking sensation like a stone dropping from her throat to the very bowels of her stomach. It was ridiculous; _she_ was ridiculous, and completely useless on top of that too.

"AGHHHHH!" And a large orange thing burst through the wall farthest away from her, preventing Rukia from completely dissolving into her pool of self-pity. Mouth open, she gawked at the form, which only shook a little bit while getting up. He spotted her agape face and gave a feral grin, as blood trickled down from underneath a matted, filthy section of hair over his left eye.

"L…let go of me," She whispered.

"Heh?" He said absently, and was unexpectedly flung aside to the wall like a sac of potatoes. Rukia screamed. First at the bleeding mass of black and orange by her wall. Then the enormous, unimaginably large claw, scythe-shaped, that had been the cause of aforementioned. Then –

"H-hollow." Rukia said through her clenched teeth, remembering the way the words had formed on his. His. The bleeding mass of orange and black and red and more red.

The hollow suddenly stilled itself. Its nose (if that was a nose, what was that) seemed to sniff at her, carefully, looking almost as if it was taking great pleasure in whatever scent she was giving off. She nearly smiled, remembering the old cliché of a monster 'smelling' a person's fear.

Once it was done with that, the hollow's mouth (enormous, incredible, unimaginable) stretched open, revealing fearsome rows of jagged teeth, and clenched the jaw muscles. With another unholy scream unlike anything on the earth, it leaped at Rukia. So paralyzed (in mind body_ soul_) she couldn't even blink her eyes, while her feet resisted the frozen feeling futilely.

/I can't die. I can't./

Yet she closed her eyes and imagined her mouth curved a little bit upwards, looking entirely peaceful, welcoming it. Death. She thought she heard the shinigami's gruff voice from somewhere over her head and a light gust of wind on her face. Perhaps she had already died, painlessly (shame) and he had sent her already to heaven. Or was it Soul Society? Or was it. hell. ? Did it even matter.  
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**Chapter 3 – part 3 - : The Death Strawberry (FINALE)**

"Get up. Get up. Get. UP." He said thickly into her ear, so close she felt the hot ragged breath and smelled the blood and dust on him. Her eardrums were pounding, heart thumping rapidly, world spinning. A world that consisted of a bright pink bunny winking at her from the ceiling.

"I'm dead."

He laughed, and winced in pain. "Almost and about to be, if you don't fuckin' _do what I say. _Now. GET UP."

She was either going to cry or throw up. Perhaps both. "I- I can't!" He, him, the boy (old man) lying next to her, a filthy heap of black cloth and rust and determination but not fear, bravely and nobly nudged her numb body with a sprained foot.

"There. I'm bleeding to death and still managed to poke your skinny ass with my foot. Look, I took off the bakudoh, you oughta be doin' cartwheels right about now."

Blink. Slowly, like an old woman getting up to dance on her golden anniversary, she rolled over (carefully, making sure it was the other way, you can't roll onto a death god) onto her front and tremblingly pushed herself up onto flat palms. She turned her head and for the first time saw him clearly. She paused. Then –

"You _looked _strong." She blurted out bluntly. He started at that, then stopped and tried not to burst into laughter.

"And _you _looked like the most seriously unfunny girl in the world." He said lightheartedly, like a favorite uncle to his niece, "but I guess you can catch even me off guard." Before she could interpret whether that was an insult or not, he went back to business mode and grabbed the huge sword by his side. He pointed it towards her with some difficulty. "Come here."

"What?" Shakily, she had begun crawling to him before even finishing the entire one-word sentence.

"I can't fight in this condition. After I had to save your dumb ass." He began, surprisingly without any real malice. It was pointless, however – Rukia's eyes still dampened and she looked away briefly to try and get the tears off before he could see.

"I'm sorry." She whispered.

"Yeah yeah, that's enough for me." The boy says carelessly, looking disgruntled. "Just shut up and listen, the hollow's coming back any second. I got him pretty good – lopped off an arm – but this shitface is stubborn, and he wants your soul pretty badly."

She looked startled at that. "I-it was after me? So this is all really…my fault?"

"Yeah." He said tactlessly. "Look, you have two options here – either take responsibility for that, or have an emotional breakdown…aaaand it looks like you're leaning towards the latter, so, sorry about that, I'm not so good with words, but we don't have any time here and–"

A claw appeared out of thin air, except it wasn't so much thin air as a _break _in the atmosphere. It was as if some giant thing had opened a tear in a piece of paper, except the paper was the very fabric of the universe. Rukia saw through her tears a bloody stump follow the claw and mentally hoped Soul Society wasn't populated by too many of those.

"SHIT." The bleeding mess of a man turned urgently towards Rukia again, eyes searching another's for response. "Long story short: I stab you with this, right through the heart. You get the chance to save everyone here. Deal?"

"By being dead?" Rukia asked dumbly.

"_No._ By becoming a shinigami." Fierce brown eyes swept over the scared azure. Words, unspoken, but maybe they were images; completely indescribable, passing between the two uniquely different people (but so much alike, _so the same_). One was lying on his back, bleeding very messily and holding a sword to the air, while the other looked frightened on her knees, knelt over said bleeding mass.

The hollow finally managed to fit the entirety of its fat self through the tiny hole of reality it had made. Clumsily, blood clouding its vision, it located the two life forms in the corner of the open-wall room and made that noisy, inhuman shriek again.

"Take my sword." He commanded, and without even thinking her two hands clasped themselves around the flat edges of the blade. Ichigo tried to look closely at her, attempting to construe her current emotions.

"My name's Kurosaki Ichigo." He said.

Rukia looked up, and, he was pleased to see, the tears had completely disappeared from her face, replaced by a slight, if shaky, smile. "I am Kuchiki Rukia."

"Kuchiki Rukia," Ichigo said carefully, memorizing the way the name rolled off his tongue, seeing how it might be the last chance he'd ever get to say it. "Let's hope we live to see each other again." Heartfelt sincerity. Pointless now.

The hollow had begun moving, impossibly fast for its girth, and was just about upon them.

Instead of replying, Rukia pulled at the sword they held together and shoved it into her heart, located right above her breast and two sizes too small (big).  
-----

"Kurosaki-san ♥ What a surprise to meet you here!"

"Go to hell, Sandal-hat" was the muttered reply, buried underneath white-robed arms wrapped over a bowed orange head. The mysterious 'Sandal-hat' merely tsked and knelt down by the fallen shinigami. He leaned in conspiringly, "You seem to have a bit of a problem right now, ne Kurosaki-san?"

"Mnnf."

"You seem unhappy, Kurosaki-san." The tall man stated simply. His eyes, shadowed by a tacky striped hat, were bright and lively while gazing downwards at him.

This garnered a response. Ichigo lifted his head from the pavement and glared razor-sharp needles at the man, who seemed to be enjoying himself. "Yeah? And what gives you that CRAZY IDEA?"

"Hmm. You appear to have been stripped of your powers. Completely!"

Reluctance. "Go on."

"That girl lying over there took them, and fired an uncontrolled, fantastically huge blow of demon magic with your sword, quite by accident, and while the hollow is dead, she in turn may very well be, from such a surge of energy!"

Ichigo crinkled his forehead. "How long have you been here?"

"Oh, that's not important right now," The man replied airily, and stepped towards the still form of the small girl, lying a few feet away. Every step made a loud, echoing 'click' from his wooden clogs. Ichigo dimly wondered if the people downstairs were stirring awake yet.

"Oh, she's not dead! Incredible!" He took out a cane from nowhere and began poking at her with it experimentally.

"H-hey! That's not nice!" Ichigo sweated.

"I never took you to be so chivalrous," Sandal-hat sniffed, "and anyways, you've got more important problems to think of. This one has been solved for the moment," and he nudged her side with a foot for emphasis, "but think of your situation right now."

Ichigo fell silent, with a heavy air settling around him.

"Well, this is going to cost you!" He took off his hat, revealing very fine cornflower hair.

"What's going to cost me?" Ichigo asked suspiciously.

He thoughtfully scratched his chin, where some stray stubble lived carefree. "The damage done here, of course. Think of all those humans you saved downstairs, putting them safely away by the kitchen – their memories will have to be modified very carefully. Of course, it would've been much easier had you just let them all get eaten, but of course you had to be all white knight…"

"Shut up, Kisuke." Ichigo said testily.

"Mou, so rude to your elders!" He gave a sharp tap with the bottom end of his cane on Ichigo's skull, where there already resided a few bumps.

"Well, fine, I'll just buy one of those memory things offa you," Ichigo grumbled, rubbing his head. "That's not that bad anyways."

"Ah ah ah, remember what I said, Kurosaki-san!" Kisuke twirled his cane idly with one hand while still looking at the dead/alive body of Kuchiki Rukia, thinly veiled curiosity glimmering in his sharp eyes. "Your situation, sir, your _situation. _What are you going to do, wandering around like that, powerless and unprotected?"

"A gigai." Ichigo realized.

"Tch, you sure are slow, Kurosaki-san!" The man finally tore his eyes away from the stirring Rukia and pointed his cane at the boy. "So how about it? Ichigo-san?" Kisuke's clever eyes gleamed with anticipation.

"…Yeah yeah, fine." Ichigo began to get up, dusting himself off futilely. White showed everything; all the vulnerabilities and weaknesses worn on one person; hid nothing. "Just do something about her first, I think she's worse off than me."

"I'll add that to your bills, then!" He smiled charmingly.

* * *


	2. Starter

A/N: HAY GUYS. You get a special extra-lengthy chapter, mostly because I took so long writing it. Still, even without the projected time I spent not working on it slash procrastinating, it was unexpectedly way longer than I thought it'd be. I…wouldn't keep expecting future chapters to all be this length. Maybe the first couple, but that's because we're still setting out the series and the plot and shit. But this IS going to be a very long project, and what's going to happen is either A) I get lazy and start combining two or three chapters at a time (and effectively ruining my SUPERRRCLEVARR chapter title parallelisms), or B) I give up ten chapters in! For the record, B is the most common route I've taken, but who knows, I am getting ever so fond of this fic, it's my baby of epic-sized proportions.

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**Chapter 2: Starter**

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When she woke up, there was no intense thinking or mad sprinting to the door to discover dead bodies; only a thick, heavy weight pushing at her head, making it impossible to _think, _much less sprint. A loud, perpetual humming, as if someone had let the radiator on for the night. If Rukia had ever touched alcohol to her lips, she'd recognize this as a hangover, but there was no drink involved, only swords and knives and _ow damn it _it HURTS.

"GET UP."

"Nnnnggh!" She mechanically lifted her upper body from underneath the white bed sheets, still tightly tucked in – how had she tucked herself in? – and saw a grinning, red-haired, dumb ass _fool._ Blink, and there was nothing.

Except for a giant gaping hole in the wall.

"Miss Kuchiki, you're awake!" One of the maids, the one that always looked harried and unpleasant (read: all of them) bustled into the room and briskly set breakfast down by the table. She glanced at the clock and made that clucking sound most middle-aged women could perfect, and hustled to the large walk-in closet, throwing out various clothes hangers and accompanying articles to the floor. Socks. Little black shoes. Slate-gray pleated skirt. 8:30 (the clock flashed from the wall)

"Miss Kuchiki, if you please!" She said agitatedly, and Rukia swung her legs to the side of the bed and nimbly jumped up, clad in a white nightgown. She picked her way carefully through the random rubble and huge _chunks_ of plaster and debris decorating the white wooden floor. Something wasn't making sense. Or nothing. She had to figure out which.

"Tanaka-san?" Quietly.

Something was dropped to the floor with a mild 'thump': a white school shirt and an exasperated sigh. Tanaka Jun dragged her feet in a sort of half-stomp to the open door and stood there. Rukia had not to lift her head more than a few inches to meet her eye, or see the two red cranberry-stained splotches on each cheek (and various other places) framing a short nose and the natural frown gracing her lips. Every inch of her seemed to regard Rukia with bored disdain, the sort that anyone would give to a young, shy heiress with a silly little girl body and too-big head and rabbit-shaped pillows.

Even so, that disdain lifted a frightened, uneasy mass in Rukia's chest, so much that she let out a big sigh and half-leaped her way over the growing pile of clothes to encircle two thin arms around the surprised woman's busty countenance.

-----

"R-really!"

"No way!"

"I hope Kuchiki-san is okay!"

"Well,"

"You _would." _

_  
_"What is that supposed to mean?"

"**Hmph.**"

"Shh, everyone! Here she comes!"

The classroom door slid open, and silence fell upon the classroom. Rukia flinched at the reaction, and a second later pretended to look completely unaffected, a skill that probably requires much honing and practice and maybe a lot of time spent alone.

"Kuchiki, please sit down! Everyone has been talking about you all morning, they were so worried!" The teacher trilled obliviously. Behind her, the entire class' blank faces fell and winced.

"Yes, Ochi-sensai." Rukia moved to her seat at the far end of the room by the window, whereupon she was promptly intensely ignored. Usually, one does not feel the presence of someone trying to pretend they weren't looking; in fact, that someone normally succeeds and the watched have no idea. However, an entire room was obviously trying to not stare, and failing. Rukia's face remained as stoic as possible, emulating her older brother in a way.

The teacher was now instructing from the board to read the next chapter in their textbook, and then retreated immediately to her desk and disappeared behind a suspiciously-titled book. Eventually, the interest died away when it was realized that Rukia had not even a scratch on her body, and gradual reasoning gave way to belief that the damage to the house must've not been that bad, and how silly of them to make such a big deal, then disbelief, and then _maybe _it hadn't even really happened, someone had just eaten too much that morning and saw a bird flying into the window differently—

But some people are naturally curious, that's all.

Shuffling. Papers crinkled and one of the desk legs squeaked as body weight was leaned differently. "_Pssst. _Kunieda-san!"

Blatant disregard. _This _was the kind of ignoring that was meant to be felt, seen, even heard.

"Kunieda-sannnn"

Irratibly, "Oh, **fine.**" A pause, then a very slight leaning forward to the desk in front of her, and with very little sound, because Kunieda Ryo was not the lithe, graceful star of the track team for nothing. "Kuchiki-san? I passed by your house on the way to school this morning; is everything alright?"

Rukia had somewhat expected this; Ryo lived on the same block as her, only a few houses away; the Kunieda family was very well-off, and they were on good terms with the Kuchikis and most of the political families in the area. She sucked in a breath and rattled off a variation of one of the lines her tutor had instructed her to say in public:

"Yes, the house is fine, and no one was injured. Thank you for your worry, I will tell my brother of the Kunieda family's very kindhearted concern—"

"That's not what I meant." Kuneida's reply was sharp and dry. Rukia finally turned around with a look of surprise, but no sooner had she opened her mouth when a silhouette appeared at the entrance and threw the door back, making sure to announce his arrival very, very loudly.

Rukia's head snapped forward again, and suddenly froze.

"G-goodness, you needn't open a door so hard!" Ochi Misato blinked in a flustered way, trying to get a bearing on her holdings and the trashy romance novella she held in her hands.

"Oh, sorry." The boy said like he couldn't give a toss, and tossed his head. "You must be the teacher Ochi Misato? I'm Kurosaki Ichigo."

"Ho, a new student? At this time of year?" Ochi blinked again, and looked at some crumpled sheet of paper – it might've passed for a roll sheet some time in her career -- on her desk top, a ruin of yellowing paperwork and paperclips.

"Yes, Ochi-san, my family had to move suddenly because, uh, of a tornado." The students looked around excitedly at each other, first for such cheek at the improper honorific, and then the strange news of a tornado that no one had seen on the news. Not to mention, this character's appearance – such bright hair! Who would dye their hair like that unless they wanted to be the center of attention for bullying and punishment? This boy had to be a gang leader or something similar.

"A tornado?" Oblivious.

"Y-yeah, it was HUGE! It came out of nowhere, and all of a sudden it picked up our entire house and we were all trapped in the eye! And we were carried all the way here!"

"No!" Ochi gasped.

"Yeah! And – er – so we decided to move here last week."

Rukia had tried to disbelieve her eyes, but now couldn't believe her ears.

"Well, what a miracle you're alive!" Ochi declared, buying it completely. "Though I need to know why you were late, ah, Kurosaki!"

"Oh-- " and now Ichigo grinned sheepishly. "I, uh, got lost."

"Very well, take your seat." The teacher said airily to the little paperback in her hand, waving her head in some vague direction by the corner of the room.

"Well, Ochi-san, I don't have a textbook yet." Ichigo said patiently.

"Ohhh?" Adjusting her glasses, she squinted randomly at the first person who came to view, which was a snoring Asano Keigo. "Asano! Take out your textbook NOW, and share it with Kurosaki!"

Keigo twitched into attention and quickly complied, not sure of who he was more terrified of – Teacher's complete acceptance of any lame excuse and strange occurance, or the new thug with crazy hair that was probably going to go after his lunch money.

Ichigo walked languidly to the empty desk next to Keigo, which just happened to be directly in front of Kuchiki Rukia's desk. She stared, transfixed, at what she thought to be a hallucination, solid and real and seen by everyone, not just in her dreams. Standing in front of her and holding out his hand.

"Hey, I'm Kurosaki Ichigo. Nice to meet you, Miss—?" Ichigo smirked.

Rukia swallowed the choke that might stumble her words, her repulsion, anger, hate, confusion, fear. Especially fear. With a steady voice that would've impressed her honored brother, she looked at him with clear, cool eyes, and craned her neck to see his tall figure with dignity. Quite unlike the broken-down mess of the night before, she hoped.

"Kuchiki Rukia. The pleasure is all mine." She smiled sweetly, and did not even acknowledge the hand extended out to her.

-----

Civilized, polite, aloof. Kuchiki class. "What are you doing here?"

"Ahh, nothin' much. Just felt like coming to bother you a bit more, maybe save your life." Deadpan. "Ohwait, I forgot I CAN'T. _Bitch._"

"I'm afraid don't know what you're speaking of." She said this offhandedly, darting her eyes to the corners and making sure they had been effectively isolated.

"Oh come off it, stop trying to act all uppity and high class on me, kid, it's never worked on me before." Ichigo kicked a nearby can sitting on the ground and leaned against the wall, studying Rukia lazily with bored eyes. His gaze made her feel uncomfortable, and a thought crossed her mind as she studied Ichigo back – how strange, she mused. With his rumpled school uniform, untucked and wrinkled, and bright, orange hair, he looked more the part of a high school delinquent than anything else.

Yet, slouching there against the school's wall, which just happened to be the area where most of the real hooligans hung out and smoked, the shinigami looked far more at home than she had ever felt in her short 14 years of life.

Something cracked, and it was enough for her to stop talking so ridiculously. Her bright eyes flashed and fiercely challenged his. She thought she might say something eloquent and befitting of a noble-- but gave up some seconds in. "Why THE FUCKING FUCK are you here in my school, posing as a FUCKING STUDENT?"

In his eyes, he saw that huge beam of spiritual energy completely rip apart and vaporize the Hollow. Over and over again. He breezily stood a bit straighter and stretched his arms, a small smile playing on his lips.

"Hahahah, that's a bit more like it."

Rukia fell silent once more, murder in her eyes and perhaps something else. Ichigo scowled when he realized there was nothing else, she was all out. He shoved his hands into his pockets, head cocked forward and back hunched, true hoodlum style, and stalked over to the short girl, where his imposing figure made more of an impression, as well his finger did on her forehead..

"You." Poke. "Took." Poke. "ALL." Pokepoke. "Of my fuckin'." Flick. "Powers."

"Ow!" Rukia clasped the red bruising spot on her head and glared tearfully. "What are you talking about? I did nothing of the sort!"

"Tch, yeah, I guess you wouldn't expect it. I definitely didn't – couldn't sense a stinkin' trace of proper reitsu in you." And once again he gave her a stink-eye look, pure suspicion clouding his gaze. "That matters shit-all now. When I transferred my powers to you, you took almost all of it. I can barely throw a decent basic demon art spell now. Not that I could in the first place, but – oi! Are you listening to me?" For Rukia had tossed her head angrily and turned her nose at his words.

"How could I have taken anything? And even if I DID, there's certainly no trace of it now!" She made a sweeping hand gesture to emphasize her point.

"…s'pose I'll have to show you, then." Ichigo said in a slightly grim voice. He took out some sort of bright red cloth from his pocket and sort of began walking closer to her at a very rapid pace. Rukia eyed him suspiciously.

"What are you—"

SMACK.

-----

"So? Believe me now?"

"…You say that too much."

Ichigo scoffed. "Only because you're so damn ignorant -- H-HEY! OI, watch where you swing that thing!"

"Oh, sorry. I was aiming for YOUR SKULL."

"Right, because you're too short to reach it, FUCKIN' MIDGET—"

"Aii! H-how dare you! TAKE THAT YOU FOOL."

"OW, DAMNIT I'M BLEEDING—"

"Your own fault!"

"HOW IS THAT, YOU JUST TRIED TO STAB ME."

"And you didn't get out of the way! _Unfortunately._"

Ichigo tried not to claw both his and her eyes out. _Don't kill her, don't kill her, she's the help— _

The sound of a cell phone ring startled them both out of their feud. Ichigo shot his hand down his left pocket and clumsily groped for the device, and when he flipped the cell (with an attached bell and cat character keychain, Rukia noted with an arch of the eye) open, his eyes hardened and without warning, grabbed her roughly by the arm and began sprinting to the school gates.

"Where are you going? Unhand me at once!" Rukia ordered, outraged and slightly sore around the wrist, where an iron-fist grip was surely making a ring of purple on her arm.

"Shut up." Ichigo's long legs had done most of the work while Rukia had reluctantly allowed herself to be dragged along, so they had apparently reached their destination already: the playground park, only one or two blocks from the high school and middle school. His eyes searched the empty area and settled on something invisible Rukia couldn't see.

"What is it?" She asked, although she had already felt her skin prickle at the pressure in the atmosphere. She could guess, and she was right, as a second later a tiny child burst out from behind some bushes, in the exact spot Ichigo had been staring. It was a boy, around 7 or 8, covered in small cuts and bruises, running for his dear life.

"Get ready." Ichigo said, just as the boy tripped before them. He was close enough for Rukia to see the terrible look in his eyes, terror and fear ruling over the dried sticky tears on the boy's dirty face.

"What?" Rukia said unobtrusively, captivated by the boy's face, and suddenly a Hollow tore apart the bush the kid was in a second ago to answer her question.

"Go! Attack the head, and don't leave any openings on yourself!" Ichigo barked. Rukia shakily unsheathed her sword – much too slow. The Hollow was upon the boy in two seconds, rearing its nasty head hungrily. Rukia hesitated.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Ichigo screamed in her ear. With a weak cry, the girl fell upon the monster and slashed wildly in trembling swoops, ineffectively scraping the Hollow's cheek and chin. The thing hardly noticed, and raised one of its clawed hands as if to simply swat her away while still focusing on the boy in front of it. In such a careless manner, it left itself open enough for even Rukia to get at it, and moments later the Hollow shrieked and stumbled back, two of its talons missing in a bloody puddle on the ground.

The small, dirty boy was forgotten now. The Hollow, she noticed for the first time, had some distinctive features that made it marginally different from the one she'd seen before. (She would soon learn that all Hollows carried different characteristics that made them all uniquely unpleasant and disturbing. The more you know!) This one, for example, had a spiked tail. She was almost too distracted by its face to notice it, but was forced to quite quickly when it swung out from behind, arched and aimed at her neck.

_Lift the sword. _Rukia just managed to raise it in time, though it did little to help. The tail (more of a steel rod with a sharpened point, actually) met with her thin blade and forced her back several feet. Nearly winded, Rukia continued to struggle, while the Hollow seemed amused now, pushing its weight on the tail rather leisurely. The thing leered, opened its mouth and revealed a long tongue.

"IDIOT, IT'S COMPLETELY OPEN. THE FACE!"

_The what? _But at this point, Rukia had realized the only way she would get through this was to listen to Jerkface, no matter how much she didn't want to. Ignoring her aching muscles that burned in protest, she flung herself to her left in a tumble, desperately holding on to her weapon for dear life. The Hollow's tail flew forward into the playground structure ahead, too slow to register what had happened. Scraped hands smarting with dirt and sand, she flew up at the Hollow once again, with an agility her tired body allowed her to use, recognizing the fatality of the situation. Readjust the sweaty grip on the handle. Lift the sword higher for one last strike. Plunge with as much force as can muster, which really wasn't a lot to speak of, but apparently just enough—

No, wait. The spiked tail that was coming down on her said otherwise. Rukia had only blinked when she saw it coming, and she expected the next time she closed her eyes again, it would've reached her. Only something else collided with it before it had struck, something large and blue and nothing she'd seen before. The tail twitched as though it had been hit (though by what, Rukia couldn't say) and fell limp to the ground, dust rising all around it.

Rukia's sword had done its work, just barely, and the place where it had hardly breached the bleached white bone of the Hollow began disintegrating, and spreading to the rest of the Hollow's defeated body. The monster gave one last beastly grunt as it faded away from existence, and, disturbingly enough, its left eye, the one Rukia was closest to, stared directly at her for a moment before rolling up to the whites as a sign of its demise.

She began to sway in exhaustion, and would have collapsed right there in the sandbox, if but her tall, red-haired knight swooped in to catch her (read: kick her in the bum). The next moment she found herself dangling in the air asIchigo held her up by the nape of her collar, staring straight at her face so that she floated uselessly twofeet above the ground.

"What?" Rukia cried out, indignant at the shameful sight of herself. All she wanted to do at the moment was get a good cry in from the smell (no one in the shinigami business ever told you that their occupation involved after smells; that's because most shinigamis are very proud, and nothing diminishes the nobleness of their job efforts like telling others that Hollow corpses, even as they disintegrate, smell like old eggs and a special kind of cheese), have a long sleep, and maybe kick Jerkface's shins, which she decided to get off her to-do list right there and then. But in fact and truth, she would've burst out into tears right then and there if not for that annoyingly smug, righteous look on Ichigo's face that no one could do better (except maybe herself). It made her recollect herself and reinforce the power in her swinging little feet.

"What the hell do you mean, 'what'? You KNOW what, you – OW! Why can't you obey orders?"

"I killed it, didn't I?" sniffed Rukia.

"Complete fluke. You hear me? Beginner's luck! I'm surprised you didn't disembowel yourself while swinging that piece of metal around – DAMN IT, STOP THAT, DON'T MAKE ME HOLD YOU BY THE LEGS." This managed to cease the propellers in the girl's legs at once. Ichigo relaxed a little bit and tried to act, or at least feel a little more mature.

"You've got to listen faster, don't you see? A shinigami has to do everything they can to protect whoever is in harm; they've got no time to think about themselves or what _might _happen, it's all about right then! Whoever needs protecting comes first; your fear comes after – so far after that it shouldn't come at all!"

Kurosaki Ichigo was not very good at all with words, and this little speech merely showcased that fact. But he did, however, have a way with sincerity and how much he truly, truly means things, and that's how Kuchiki Rukia decided that she'd like to feel so _truly _about things, any things, because that had been missing from her life for such a very long time.

"I can be a shinigami!" Rukia blurted out. (How funny, she still felt like crying, but for different reasons.) "Just give me another chance, I can do it!"

Ichigo had regained that funny amused look he'd begun to cultivate just for her. "Whoever said I wouldn't? You're a weird kid, you know that? Of course— er—"

A tug at her side. Rukia looked down at length (Ichigo hastily dropped her, and the height difference made more sense) to see that same dirty little boy, his face imploring her in a way that has manipulated so many before her.

"Please," He sobbed, "I want to go home. I want to see my family again. Can I finally go?"

"Of course you can, kid." Ichigo knelt down and ruffled the boy's already chaotic hair. She had to give it to him; he had a way with children. He looked up expectantly at Rukia, who stood there for a long while in bewilderment, until she said "OH!" with big eyes, and hurriedly unseathed her dirty sword again. The company waited while she awkwardly attempted to clean the guts and blood off of the zanpakatou. They all stood a little straighter when she turned around again, the blade only slightly more sanitary. She tried to soften her eyes and give the boy an encouraging smile as she plunged the hilt in, but he couldn't possibly have seen, his eyes were shut so tight in fear and (maybe) hopefulness.

"I'm sorry." Rukia said after a peaceful silence had settled over the sudden emptiness.

"_Fuck you_."

"You can kick me back." She replied, as nicely as she could. It wasn't what she had meant, but it was still a start.

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A/N: i'm tired so tired kill me now 


	3. Headhittin'

**Author's Notes**: I had a whole blurb here whining about how my idea for chapter title parallelisms was dumb and I finally realize it now because there's no way I can match every chapter, and besides some of the chapters are very short outside of the volume format, and oh yeah Rukia has no friends so that's a few good volumes gone right there, wait wait just calm down and take it one step at a time first goal obviously being to get Byakuya to say "BOHAHAHAHA" for the Don Kanonji arc YES OK GO, but I deleted it. And sort of recreated it just now, but this is like David compared to the Goliath. So everything's cool.

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**Chapter 3: Headhittin'****

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**

"You're doing it wrong."

Rukia shot a dark look at the direction of the voice (which turned out to be merely a tuft of spiky hair behind some glossy shounen manga featuring a prominently-muscled hero which made said dark look grow darker). "I don't see how I am. Or _how you'd even notice._"

"You kidding? I can practically **feel** you sucking at this. It's like your..." An awkward pause, accompanied by a quick shuffle of some pages. "Your _ken-ki. _Yeah, that's it. Watch out."

"Oof!"

"Told you."

_HOW DOES HE DO THAT. _"Rrrghhhfllt."

"Talking back won't make those balls land any softer!"

Rukia ignored another wiffle ball marking its territory on her bruised hipbone and took a careful, however unlearned, stance, with the plastic baseball bat (lightweight, the right size for her, aren't you an ingrateful protégée?; read: stolen from a distracted burly 9-year old). Tightened her grip, levered her hands back to propel more force—

"Oh _shit, _he's a ninja? I don't think Kenshin'll be able toAUGHH FUCKIT HURTS ITHURTS."

"Kuchiki-san?"

The girl in question reeled around apprehensively, expecting something much worse than what was. Instead, as it was, Yamada Hanatarou stood there, nervous eyes taking in the scene (scowling young man clutching his groin area and appearing to hold back tears, the young woman holding a bat, _connect two and two, _not hard to deduct the situation). It appeared that it was time for Yamada Hanatarou to be a man for a woman and, excuse the coincidental pun cough cough, _step up to bat. _

"Y-you person!" Hanatarou swallowed to try to obscure the painfully obvious tremble in his voice. "T-t-that's right! Please leave – I mean, leave Kuchiki-san alone! I'll fight you, s-so Kuchiki-san won't have to!"

Rukia knitted her eyebrows in confusion. "I, er, think you have it wrong, Yamada-san."

"It's o-okay, Kuchiki-san!" Hanatarou put up two hands up in a vaguely threatening position. "You don't have to pretend everything's fine, now that I'm – I'm—"

"Yamada—" Rukia started concernedly, but Ichigo, with that remarkably swift recovery rate (though, admittedly, still conspicuously sort of patting at the wounded area without being quite conscious of it), stood up quickly and stared down a now petrified Hanatarou, suddenly aware of the good foot-and-so-inches Ichigo had on him. _That scary look...what's with that? _Hanatarou thought, unable to even comprehend why a sweet, good person like Kuchiki-san would hang out with such a hellion.

Ichigo stared. Out of the corner of his mouth – "Who's this kid?"

Hanatarou, if he had had the talent of movement in his body at that point, might've bristled at the 'kid' used for him. Rukia grimaced and roughly poked the taller boy in the elbow with the tip of her bat. "Show some respect, idiot," Rukia hissed. "He's older than 'high school' you. He's in college."

"Are you kidding? This tyke's supposed to be older than me?" Ichigo scoffed, receiving another butt-end of the bat in reply. Grudgingly: "Uh. Yo."

Startled by the sudden change of atmosphere, Hanatarou reluctantly (or very eagerly, it all depended on the perspective) released his battle stance with dropping of his arms to limp stumps at his sides, feeling faint at the sight of Ichigo baring his teeth in an attempt to smile.

"K-Kuchiki-san?"

"Hello, Yamada-san." Rukia bowed quickly. "You, um, seemed to have caught us in the middle of our training!"

"Training?" Hanatarou repeated, bewildered.

"Y-yes! Um... training... for the WORODU CUP!" Rukia flashed a 'V' symbol in his face. Ichigo emotionlessly mimicked her motions behind her. "This is my_ pii-churu, _Kurosaki Ichigo! He's also, er, new to my school."

On (poor) instinct, Ichigo flexed his arm in what he thought was an impressive way.

"Oh, er, yes, I see, I see," Hanatarou nodded, suddenly eager to get away. "Well be safe, Kuchiki-san, Kurosaki-san!" He bowed and scurried away, sweating fervently under his coat. He chanced a glance back over his shoulder and saw the two waving enthusiastically at him. When he thought about it later – much, _much _later – he realized the change in Kuchiki Rukia's manner, the way she seemed to actually respond to his nervous banter, the strange and inconceivable stories she made up as excuses, a characteristic he found to grow endearing. He was frightened witless by her orange-haired companion, but he did like the change he was apparently making on her.

"Weird kid. Way too twitchy." Ichigo intoned, staring at the small retreating form. "How d'you know a mopey pensive guy like him?"

"Yamada-san is in his first year in medical school, but really, he's only two years older than me." Rukia said, almost smiling and almost not. "I knew him in junior high. He did not get along very well with others." With her back straight, Ichigo observed idly, she was no taller than Yamada – maybe a hair's breadth shorter. And with his back turned like that (almost sprinting away), his longish hair flying back from his speed, they were almost siblings.

"Simply looking at him tires me out." Rukia sighs. "But he's a good person. And he feels some peculiar need to 'protect' me, for whatever reason."

"Like an older brother." Ichigo thought outloud.

"He was being mistaken for a girl when I first met him. Two older boys were attempting to either woo or rape him. I had to chase them away by pulling his pants down."

"A very delicate, epicene older brother." Ichigo modified delicately. He kept one eye on Hanatarou until the boy's small form had been completely eclipsed by the rise of the road. An element of curiosity held itself in his face, though he shrouded it with his 'furrowed-eyebrow nonchalance' look (or, rather, the terribly frightening mouth of _anger _Hanatarou had witnessed, with bonus snarl-like qualities).

Rukia sighed again, a different sort of exhalation escaping her, sharper, with hidden tacit meaning not meant to be understood. Ichigo peered down at her face with a keen eye, but it revealed nothing. He persisted. She grew cross.

"I'm going to hit you again, I really am."

"Fine, _fine_, I'm getting bored anyways. Shit improvement today, same time tomorrow, OK!" Ichigo flicked the side of her temple ("...you bastard"), an act increasingly becoming his trademark with her, and began strolling out of the empty park.

"H-hey! Where do you have to go, anyways?" Rukia asked dubiously, prudently rubbing her head.

"None of your business." Ichigo sang cheerily, walking away. Rukia fisted her hands. _A..asshole.. _

-----  
Kuchiki Byakuya stood impassively before his open closet, in a deep and contemplative silence.

"...

"...

"...Someone has been stealing my clothes."

-----  
Rukia stepped out of her misty bathroom, clad in a damp nightgown with a frilly rabbit print and drying her thin hair with a towel. Her face was pulled down into a thoughtful frown, lines appearing where there had been none.

Something about the afternoon encounter with Hanatarou had troubled her. He had been unusually peaky and nervous, even for him. It was not just the appearance of Ichigo (certainly, that was a face that would terrorize the living daylights out of anyone), but a feeling, as if the student was restraining himself from repeatedly looking over his shoulder for a gun cocked at his ear.

She looked dully at the remnants of her room. The open walls destroyed by the Hollow had been properly repaired already, courtesy of the town's Fear of the Kuchiki Wrath, but of course her insanely adorable bunny wallpaper that she'd had to _beg_ Byakuya via the interior designer had been destroyed, and a blank whiteness consumed the room, a prison save for the one large window by her bed, curtains pulled back, moonlight streaming in. For the first time since a long time, Rukia acknowledged what she was feeling in her gut, like a constant stomachache, was loneliness.

Despite herself, she wondered where Ichigo was.

Unbeknownst to her, Ichigo stretched out along the low, long shelf in the comfortably large closet, creating folds and dents in the perfectly creaseless blankets underneath him. It was almost sinfully comfortable; he resisted a long, lung-expelling yawn. He hadn't thought much of Rukia's room at first when he covertedly snuck in that afternoon through the (UNREASONABLY HIGH) one window, because, honestly, who needed this much room, especially someone who only came up to practically his bellybutton? The closet was like a whole room itself! But he now surmised that perhaps in the modern world, people required closets to be used as emergency guest rooms when there was no room, and, comforted by that frugal thought, now sprawled out happily in the folded piles of bed sheets and futons.

Unfortunately, a sudden loud beeping disrupted his rest, and he fumbled angrily for the cell phone in his pants pocket.

Rukia looked up from the math book she had been intently studying, startled by the strange, faraway beeps she was hearing. Was it her imagination? They sounded vaguely like that of a computer or video game, but her brother detested most forms of technology and forbade such trivialities inside his property. And no one of the household staff was younger than 50; most of the maids probably would've cracked something should they have broken out the DDR pad.

"RUKIA!"

"AHHH" was her immediate reply. She snatched the desk lamp next to her, ripping it from the power socket and hauling it back over her head for additional momentum. Then paused, eyed the perpetrator's apparel. "Is that...my brother's robe?"

"No time for irrelevant chit-chat!" Ichigo hastily waved away, causing the fine gold-trimmed sash of the royal blue robe to fall open and hang loosely, dangling a glimmering "BK" in embossed ruby-red calligraphy at the tail end. "There's a Hollow about to enter the area!"

"What?" Rukia said in alarm. "Where?"

"HERE!" Ichigo had already fitted the red glove on his hand and in one, two quick steps, shot forward.

A wicked claw slashed through the air where the two had stood a second before. Shinigami!Rukia looked frantically from Ichigo, the rumpled corpse lying on the ground that was actually her, to the thrumming sword in her hands (or was that the adrenaline and fear-induced blood pounding in her hands, she couldn't tell). A droning filled her ears. What was she supposed to do with this again?...

Ichigo gave her a look that seemed to say 'Are you fucking serious?', which was enough incentive. She jumped into the air, faster than any move she'd done before (but still decidedly lacking a required measure of surefootedness), and jutted her thin blade into the terrifying white bone.

Ichigo swore; he could tell it was too shallow a hit seconds before the metal had even touched the face. "Move back, move back!" He shouted, either fustration or anger cancelling out the other. Obediently, she leapt backwards and landed on the rear wall with fluke grace; the Hollow, all business, began rearing up for a stronger attack, but abruptly halted itself. The pair watched, surprised, as a delayed crack suddenly appeared in the bone mask, stark black lines spreading around a certain area and finally breaking free from the built-up pressure. The monster screamed in obvious pain, writhing its upper body in distraction.

"Go!" barked Ichigo. The creature started at his voice and moved its cawed hand to reveal a bloodshot eye, flecks of bone still entrenched in the surface. It gave another shriek and moved back to disappear into the closing void next to her dresser.

"It's gone..." Ichigo said grimly, his feet already moving as his cell phone struck a ring again. "Let's go, we've got to follow it!" He ranked back the window panel and jumped up to a crouch on the landing. Pausing, he swiveled his head back in an annoyed way at his still partner, her eyes clouded in confusion.

"Come on! What's wrong?"

Rukia blinked, and her pupils regained a different light as she recognized the aggravated shinigami. Shaky steps walked unsteadily towards him, all the while her mind buzzing. All she could see was the horrifying eye of the Hollow, the eerily human eye, and what's more, a familiar one—

Something clicked.

She thought she was going to be sick. One look at Ichigo, and he knew. Or he knew that she knew that he knew? The older boy lowered his eyes and looked away. In a low, but level voice– "I'll be down there waiting. You have 2 minutes to spare." He jumped down.

(or she knew that he knew that she knew)

Rukia tottered clumsily to her still foggy bathroom and bent over the toilet.

"Oh, God."

(he knew)

-----  
Ichigo glanced at Rukia and then quickly away. "Are you okay?" His voice came out gruffer than he would've liked. No reply came at first. Then:

"Why didn't you tell me?" Her voice was slightly strained, but otherwise perfectly normal.

"What good would it have done?" He said defensively. "Fuck, if I had my way – and if you'd _done the job properly –_ you wouldn't ever know that behind all Hollows' masks are former humans, and we could've ended this whole affair with you going back to being a weird Earth kid and me back in Soul Society. But you know now. Doesn't change the fact that you've got to do the job. At least 'til my powers come back."

"Tell me." Her voice now held a refined, understated, powerful quality that Ichigo, should he inhabit Rukia's closet long enough, would recognize taking strong root from her elder brother. "Tell me everything. Whether I'd want to know or not."

Ichigo shook his head, would've 'hmphed' if he was grandmotherly enough.

"All Hollows are human souls degenerated into monsters. They're the ones that weren't given a soul burial by a shinigami in time, or maybe didn't want one. Mostly, these are the souls that were eaten by other Hollows and so become them, but there the ones with too-strong regrets or attachments to the living world. They get stuck in a rift, and eventually complete despair and torment destroy them and turn them into those monsters. And once they become one, they attack their families and friends first, because their pain and loneliness gives them hunger pangs, and they long to distract that pain by consuming the soul of their loved ones. After there's no one left, then they start attacking indiscriminately." Ichigo took a deep breath. "But that Hollow looked like it had somewhere to go."

"So we should hurry." She said matter-of-factly.

"Yes." Ichigo winced as a cramp began working itself into his side. His gigai was really becoming rather too familiar with natural human functions. A word would be had with Urahara later, the bastard. Rukia observed his pains.

"You know, I can sense the Hollow fair enough by myself." Rukia suggested innocently, not even out of breath in her even trot/skip/float next to Ichigo on the hard paved street.

"No. You'll become Hollow meat in two seconds flat without me." Ichigo replied without hesitation (and, in all truth, with fair reason).

"The only other alternative..." Rukia faded in a light, indicative tone.

"**NO.**"

"It doesn't make you any less of a man!"

"Yes it does." Ichigo nearly shuddered at the image of himself, all 174 centimeters of him, getting a piggyback on Rukia's meager frame. It was emasculating in the _most painful way. _But the pressing reality of the situation was getting to him, as well as the insistent ringing of the cellphone in the robe pocket reminding him of the urgency and their limited time.

"Fuckshitdamnitcockballsand_ass_(if11thDivisioneverfindsout!) **FINE**. _Let's go_." And with as much dignity as he could muster, he clambered onto Rukia's back (she didn't even have to crouch! _god this was humiliating_) and loosely knitted his arms around her small neck, trying not to somehow accidentally choke her. Rukia seemed to be taking it all in stride, though in a different, less pressing situation, he just _knew _she would've been the one squawking and shrilly complaining about the outrages of carrying a filthy commoner on her back.

She merely responded by picking up his lanky legs into the crooks under her elbows and jumped nimbly up to the concrete wall next to them. She jumped up next to the nearest rooftop, as if climbing stairs, and began making her way at a much faster pace.

"By the way..." Ichigo mumbled, trying to avoid getting hair in his mouth, "that guy we saw today."

"Yamada-san?" Her hands unconsciously twitched. Ichigo pretended not to notice.

"I don't have a lot to go by it, but I have a feeling he's the one in danger. Turn left here."

"No," Rukia said. "I know where he lives. There's a shortcut."

* * *

A/N: Writing out Asian-accented Engrish is so fun it's _sinful. _Especially from Rukia's mouth. DOKI DOKI I RABU YUU GO GO BICTORY♥♥♥♥ Also first person to draw out that superrrrfun image of Ichigo riding on Rukia's back gets +20 HP and some hot drabble/drawingthing of their own. (NO POINTS FOR PORN, just because that prompt is worded weirdly doesn't mean you can make my words _distasteful. _however i will secretly give you thumbs up, the only bleach porn out there is of ichigo and other boys, i mean i know i know ichigo is a pretty big one-man gay parade but come on think outside the box!) 


	4. WHY DO YOU EAT IT?

**Author's Notes: **And so with this chapter ends the brief (and yet v. v. long?) legacy of chapter title parallelism to the actual Bleach chapters. Because I just don't _do _speedy updating, which means more fatty chapters, which takes longer, so. Um! Basically combining the entire 'Orihime and her dead brother' mini-arc into this single chapter. This is Hanatarou's spotlight episode, so it is slightly important to know a) his circumstances, b) his tragic back story that all Bleach characters have because Kubo Tite is secretly a shoujo mangaka at heart and c) does he or doesn't he want to get into Rukia's panties (all signs point to YES OK GO but in a frightened timid way!) It is all a very exciting and harrowing tale innit, read on true believer!

**  
chapter 4 . WHY DO YOU EAT IT?**

**  
**

Hanatarou wants to clear a few things up to the general populace:

1. He is and never was in love with the lovely Miss Kuchiki Rukia.

2. Even if he was, it'd be really scary, because the lovely Miss Kuchiki Rukia has a terrifying, decidedly less-lovely older brother who would probably _gut his insides _like that gastrovascular surgery he stood in for at the hospital. Said older brother would then proceed to use his insides as ink for his calligraphy and poetry. (He knows this, even if Miss Kuchiki Rukia doesn't.)

3. He simply has no time for a girlfriend. That sounds rather big of him, and Hanatarou would hate for anyone to think him bigheaded, but it is the truth. There are just too many bills to pay, debts, schoolwork, the volunteer work at the hospital outside of his internship hours, did he mention the **bills – **it's too much.

4. His janitor friend at Karakura General keeps on teasing him for it, it, the reason why he's always daydreaming at the worst possible times and ends up ruining everything so the doctors end up hating him even more. "It's because of a girl, eh, Hana?" He eggs. "She must be pretty cute to meet your standards, you big player!" Yamada Hanatarou is not a player! He also doesn't wear his underpants too high, _thank you very much_.

5. Miss Kuchiki Rukia would never like him anyways! She's much too good for him, and he'd prefer she fall in love with someone more fit to protect her, and praise her, and make her smile once in a while. …Also taller.

As his teapot boils into a high-pitched whistle, Hanatarou sits off to the side on a worn-out floor cushion, its tassels ratty and soiled down. The prolonged screech of the kettle sings out, bounces off the hanging cabinets in the kitchen, sneaks into the ground ones and hides there amongst old boxes of papers and useless kitchenware, never opened. He feels sad – thinks it, remembers it, could probably even touch it (it was everything, it was the table the bookcase the cup the teapot the walls—), but he's not sure how, or why.

He has sat there for two full minutes as the kettle whistled, fully aware of the noise and showing no sign of it. But the sound abruptly cuts off, punctuated by the pot falling off its platform on the stove and crashing to the ground, spilling hot water on the floor that was sure to leak to the apartment below. That gets his attention, sends him stumbling up and running.

The young man gave a short shout of pain when he tried to pick up the fallen pot; his hands grazed the heated side and lingered there a moment too long. Turning his hand over, he gingerly touched at the rapidly swelling pink skin on his forethumb, index, and small of the palm.

His hand throbbed in ache, but it was quite placid in comparison to the sudden burst of pain a second later that shot through his upper torso at a terrific speed. That warmth he felt moments later, spreading rapidly out from the center of his chest, turned out to be the blood soaking his clean white shirt.

Faintly, he stuttered out his last words. "O-o...oh."

He fell backwards, and closed his eyes. Angels, feather wings, golden halos! Yes, he could see the pearly gates to the great realm of Kami-sama already! (Never mind he's never belonged to any sort of religious affiliation, or gone to a church, mosque, and/or temple in his life.) Be gentle, Kami-sama! Or is it Buddha? Maybe even Ra the Sun God? He is slightly regretful now that he never really had the time to research religion beyond his busy agnostic schedule.

Was that why he could no longer see heaven? Hanatarou sleepily opened his eyes, expecting heavenly choruses and ethereal glowing beings smilingly greeting him, but he was in only his apartment still (hm), dimly aware of an oddly attired Rukia (well ok) and a long metal chain before him (WAIT).

"Rukia...?" He mumbled drowsily, as if from a long sleep (but really it was just a vicious murderin' stab/gaping hole/crater chest wound). The young woman, garbed in old-fashioned black robes, moved her hand to her side and unveiled a long, slender sword. He was acutely aware of an abrasive, low masculine voice shouting from the sides outside his field of vision, but beyond that and ohright the chain in his chest coming from him to his body lying and twitching on the floor (perhaps there was a correlation).

His bony hands found one of the chains and crept their way up to the root, a large metal obstruction right in the center of his body, not entirely resembling that far off of a giant drain plug. An inexplicable longing to tug at the chain came over him, and he dreamily and marginally tightened his grip on it, preparing to give one solid yank.

More low, indistinct yelling. Rukia, or her 18th century doppelganger, whichever, tumbled to her left with some difficulty, narrowly avoiding beheading herself with her own weapon. It was alarming to say the least, but it appeared that she was fighting off a grossly huge monster with such features as a) minimal aesthetic pleasure, and, b) maximal terror levels.

With tremendous effort (and a truly noble endeavor to hold back the shaking in his legs and, oh I don't know, _everywhere)_, the young man picked himself up and rushed forward headlong, barely avoiding barreling into the Person He Was Trying to Protect and only just managing to barrel into the Frightening Ugly Thing. He had closed his eyes long before any of this, but a spectator would've seen an impressive tackle that slid the Frightening Ugly Thing's left arm a good two-and-half inches.

"Run away, Kuchiki-san!" Hanatarou cried out. His shoulder felt _shattered_, literally, like the bones inside had split up into a thousand tiny pieces, but there was no time, where was that tazer he received for his birthday last year?

"Yamada..." Rukia said bemusedly. A small cut on her high forehead was bleeding a bit. Hanatarou saw her eyes move down to the pale corpse lying beside her, then up following the chain into his chest. Something of the panicked, stricken quality in her expression evoked feelings of fright in his.

"Yamada, you're—"

"Dead, yes. Very good, shinigami!" Rukia had only time enough for one thought – _Oh God, they can TALK, why didn't Ichigo say something about that – _before being brutally swept up in tight grips and sharp claws and smashed through the apartment wall facing the street.

"Kuchiki-san!"

"Rukia!"

Hanatarou realized who the owner of that angry voice had been earlier. He was startled, still, to turn his head a little and see Kurosaki Ichigo standing beside him, craning his neck through the large hole in the wall, compliments of Hollow + Rukia.

Hanatarou swallowed some of his nervousness down, knowing his gut instincts had been right. "Y-you--"

Ichigo didn't even hear him, instead opting to leap through the opening easily, despite the two stories' height. Hanatarou barely had time to gasp before he saw the monster rise into the air again – with _wings. _

"Oh, for God's sake!" Rukia shouted from above, still firmly trapped in the Hollow's grip. "THEY CAN FLY. _HOW _DID THIS NOT GET MENTIONED."

"Oi, don't yell at me! Remember the _sword _in your hands?" Ichigo shouted, his hands cupped around his mouth. There was no time for a comeback; Rukia simply began slashing wildly. The Hollow squawked in pain and instantly released its grip – Rukia plummeted to the ground, landing on her side painfully, sure to have broken something or other.

"Rukia!" Ichigo ran towards the girl, she in the process of picking herself up with some effort.

"Shut up." Rukia gritted, shakily using her sword as a prop to stand. "Where is it?"

"Don't you recognize me, Yamada-kun?" The Hollow taunted, its wings folding and unfolding, stretching out to scrape the white walls in the relatively small apartment. There was no visible escape route as far as Hanatarou could see, and even if there was, there was no room for one. He wasn't entirely sure what now could happen, seeing as he was already dead, but surely nothing too horrible.

Then again, this was him. There was _always _something more horrible.

"W-why did you hurt Kuchiki-san? Leave her alone and go away!" Hanatarou stuttered, his heart was beating at terrific speeds, did he still have asthma like when he was a kid he couldn't remember oh god oh god oh

_oh God—_

-----

Hospitals have a very distinct smell. Or, to be specific, all individual wards of a hospital have distinct smells uniquely compounded by different elements and circumstances. The emergency room smells like rust and copper and sheer frustration measured out in sweat, cc. The pharmacy smells, as would be expected, like feet. The gift shop is permeated daily with inexpensive cosmetics and a stifling presence, compliments of one hare-lipped Madame Ikuni. The labor ward is odorless, for the most part, save a slight hint of flowers and something else he couldn't quite place but seemed at once familiar and unfamiliar.

The trauma ward, he hates the most. It's right next to the ER; the aftermath of whatever ordeal the patient underwent in that copper-tainted hall, one can see in the trauma unit. There's an empty flawlessness in the space within the walls, a marked absence of the flowers that cluster about in the reception desk, clutched by nervous children and tired adults, and a sad contradiction when looking up to the see the ER's rejected patient, broken into pieces so fragile and miniscule they can not be seen beneath the glass cuts.

There is no smell, and that is what bothers him the most.

He is studying through his notes in an empty patient room until a team of two nurses wheels a stretcher in, carrying a woman, pallid and sallow in color, with hollow cheeks and severe dark circles rimming her eyes. She has thick brown hair, long and wavy and soft to the look.

This is the trauma ward he spends half of his time—whatever hours left that have not already been eaten up by the monster that is medical school—studying in, a sobering look at his future profession and lifelong dream, a place where the dead have miraculously been saved from Death, but not at all entirely snatched away from its hands.

"Yamada, help out!" One of the charges pleads with a sharp note of impatience. Hanatarou jumps to his feet, red and abashed, and stands meekly at attention behind the nurses as the older one stingingly ignores him for a few moments, while the other follows in submission. Then, she turns and regards him loftily.

"Get some blankets for her, and do whatever else to make her comfortable. So lazy!" She mutters while brushing past, tsking out of the room while his head is bowed in apology.

"My name is Yamada Hanatarou," He says, fumbling in his haste to unfold the tightly packed blanket and juggle some ice and a water jug at the same time. "I'm studying to become a doctor right now and helping out around here, so please let me know if you ever need anything!"

She looks at him curiously. "What a funny name."

Hanatarou flushes. "It's usually easy to— well—"

"I am Yamada Tanako." She smiles, and her painfully chapped lips crack with a small bit of blood welling up at the corner of her mouth. "How very interesting. Do you believe in coincidence, Yamada-kun?"

Even as she speaks, her hand snakes around one of the many wires and cords she was clinging to life by, and begins to pull.

-----

"See what I've become, Yamada-kun?" The Hollow's voice rumbled throughout the small dimensions of the apartment's (three standing) walls. "Pathetic, isn't it?"

He stared.

"You look at me like a stranger." The voice was softer, sadder, and with that allowed an element of a feminine presence inside. "How sad, Yamada-kun!" The Hollow was completely unfamiliar to Hanatarou—should I know any monstrous female companions who have huge claws and wings?—but the desperate quality of the voice was unlike any other, and he had only heard one human being in his life who had reached such an awful low.

"T…Tanako-san?" Hesitant, unsure.

"How sad!" The Hollow repeated, writhed in pure emotion, and opened its hideous jaw as wide as it could. It bent its body forward and dashed towards the pitiful shaking dot on the floor. "Yamada!"

"BASTARD." A thin sword cleaved straight down and took off the huge arm outstretched towards Hanatarou. "Get away, Yamada!" shouted Rukia, blood trickling slowly from somewhere underneath her matted bangs down to the space between her narrowed eyes. The Hollow gave a giant shudder, the decapitated arm quickly dissipating at its side, and, with reflexes growing faster and faster, knocked Rukia to the ground with the small, unnoticeable tail at its back.

"Didn't I tell you to look around at your surroundings?" Ichigo cupped his hands at her, standing at a safe distance away by the apartments.

"You mean like you are, standing a kilometer away?" Rukia grumbled from the ground. The Hollow seemed to agree in a roared response, moving much more quickly than previously noticed, spurred by anger and fear and a heightened smell for blood, though the girl sprawled on the cement, in no particular hurry to move out of the way, any faster than her normal adrenaline levels asked for, hardly noticed the change of movement, if but for a loud and brief 'wshh' sound the momentum created, and Hanatarou's choked cry of pain.

"Yamada…?" murmured Rukia, her eyes fuzzily adjusting to the shift in perspective.

Drip drip.

"…yes, Kuchiki-san?" Hanatarou answered evenly, only a faint tremor at the last lilt of his voice. Rukia could not find the words to respond.

The Hollow stood at a still. As did the small girl sitting on the pavement, and the almost, if not equally, diminutive boy holding his weight valiantly under twenty stones' of teeth and bone, clamped firmly to his shoulder, with no sign of exhaustion save the tell-tale small quake of the knees. The silence would've gone on long enough and around the world and back, had not Ichigo strolled back to the area of immediate action.

"Oi! Idiot!" Ichigo shouted, and revised the statement, having decided that he had known and established the required level of intimacy with Yamada Hanatarou so as to be able to include him as a companion (read: 5 minutes, standard Kurosaki time). "Idiots! Are you going to stand there all day!" Silence broken, the three started and looked around at each other, managing to establish eye contact as much as to avoid it.

"I'm sorry, Tanako-san!" Hanatarou suddenly announced, straining to stand upright. "I'm sorry I didn't help you enough, or even in time, and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

Rukia began to shake, as if feeling the pain and heavy weight in her own shoulder.

"Tanako-san!" Hanatarou stressed, his croaky shout ending with a high break in tone, "I couldn't save you, back then! It was my fault, and I was scared and sad and tried to get away from guilt." The burden on his shoulder finally broke him down; he shakily lowered himself onto his knees, buckling down and backwards, punctuated by a sharp intake of breath as a fresh burst of blood trailed out from his torn back.

"Get back. Get back, _get back_!" Ichigo roared, and, to Rukia's astonishment, the Hollow quickly obeyed, a remarkable change having come over it—an almost meekness, as it lifted itself up from the shattered and bleeding young man.

"I never really understood, but—you were kind and noble and confided in me. And—and then everything happened, and I'm sorry, Tanako!" Still in a strong, loud voice, Hanatarou closed his eyes and pretended to not notice the furious stream of bitter water pouring over his cheeks. "I'm sorry." He collapsed back into Rukia's lap, a small bundle of nervousness and blood that she quickly passed over to Ichigo in the midst of getting herself up.

The Hollow clutched at its mask. Both Ichigo and Rukia watched apprehensively as it struggled for a moment, then tore it off.

Ichigo started. "Hey—"

"No," the woman behind the monster emerged, a narrow, bony face with too much chin and angle and beautiful brown eyes. "Please, I'm myself right now—_for _now. You know I don't have much time."

In an extraordinary change from what Rukia had known so far of him, Ichigo shut up and went speechless. He had never seen a Hollow regain a conscious awareness of its supposedly lost soul—had heard of it, of course, in fantastical reports written up by excitable first-year shinigami expecting something _more _from their patrols to the human world—but to have it confront him before his very eyes, in the manifestation of exceedingly _soulful_ eyes, was a bit much.

He merely jerked his head slightly in a manner that could barely be inferred as a nod of assent.

There was a solemn, deliberate silence the Hollow took for a few moments, perhaps to gather her words and summon the strength being drained by a constant effort to keep her humanity. She lifted her head (which, however soulful the eyes in it were, was still a bit shocking to see atop of a scaly creature's body) and focused a surprisingly peaceful gaze on the unconscious boy sprawled over Ichigo's knees, much to the latter's dismay.

"Yamada—Hanatarou," She said, and even as she spoke the tears welled up, though the peaceful nobility she assumed remained unbroken, "I am sorry for the pain I caused you and your friends. I am truly sorry for my anger that inflicted that pain on you—that terrible, terrible vengeance," and here she choked on her words, either in sorrow or the taxing effect of remaining maskless and exposed, and resumed her formal tone seconds later, "that turned me to this monster, inside and out."

She picked up the plain zanpakatou that lay harmlessly on the ground, glancing at Rukia in the process. Her hands, shaky as they were, created a tremble that made the blade hum with nervous and powerful energy. Taking in a deep breath, she plunged the sword through her middle, never taking her eyes off of Hanatarou.

"I am forever grateful for your care, and your regret, and your love."

Hanatarou weakly opened his eyes to an elegant shimmer of light that hovered over the company of three in the middle of the empty street, with no other luminescence save a lonely street light. Dazedly, he slurred his words in the questions that began to pour slowly out of his mouth.

"Tanako-san? Where is she, I must get some water to her. And…Kuchiki-san? What are you doing here? And why are you wearing—OOF."

Rukia gaped at Ichigo, smirking and twirling the strange rod-like thing he had whacked Hanatarou on the back of the head with. "W-what was that for?!"

"Huh?" Ichigo looked up from his handiwork. "Oh—well— this is to erase their memories. He should wake up and not remember anything that happened tonight!"

// I. don't think you used that memory-eraser device properly. // Rukia thought privately, but she kept her peace. She picked up the sword that had clattered to the ground after the last glimmer of soul energy had evaporated and crossed into Soul Society; picked it up, looked silently at it.

"Better move this guy back inside." Ichigo lifted himself up and pulled Hanatarou up with him, hooking his arms underneath the other's. He winced at the sudden cool liquid feeling that spread at his abdomen and dripped from his outstretched limbs.

"Er—maybe we should get him to the hospital first." Ichigo said sheepishly. The feeble wisp of healing light that appeared in one palm sadly sputtered out before he could inconspicuously reach it over to the boy's bleeding shoulder. He quickly hid his hand behind his back before Rukia turned around to face him, sheathing her sword after a thoughtful silence.

"..Yeah. Let's go." She walked closer to take Hanatarou's limp weight off of Ichigo's very human, very powerless arms.

The rest of the night in front of the Nikiyama Apts. passed relatively peacefully in comparison.

-----

"Yamada!"

Hanatarou lifted his tired eyes to see the nurse's disapproving frown two inches away. He leaned back into his chair in alarm. "Y-y-yes!!"

The nurse turned on her heel and marched away. "I was just checking to see if you were conscious. Didn't pass _that _test, unfortunately. Doctors usually need to."

"I--" Hanatarou tried, but gave up soon enough. He resignedly got up from his seat and went into the door directly next to it. The thin woman staring dully at the television turned her head at his entrance, and slightly, visibly, brightened.

"Yamada-kun." A ghost of a smile lingered over her face, not quite connecting to the rest of her features. "I'd thought you left for the day."

"Not yet, Tanako-san," Hanatarou replied, busying himself with searching for supplies inside the drawers. "I just have to check on your nutrition stats and check in with the nurse, and then I'll go home."

"Such a hardworking boy," The woman smiled blandly. Her face grew uglier as she assessed Hanatarou's words. "Do you mean they told you about dinner?"

Hanatarou nervously glanced up from the chart at the foot of the bed. "You should eat something once in a while, Tanako-san. You're well enough to chew now, you shouldn't need all these IV supplements."

The woman frowned and leaned in conspiratorially. "They're trying to kill me, Yamada-kun."

Hanatarou closed his eyes for a moment, to clear his vision. "Tanako-san—"

"I can't stand this place. I'll never come here again." She tugged weakly at the IV in her wrist. "Next time, I'll do it right."

Hanatarou didn't reply, opted to shuffle through some papers instead. She noticed his sudden aloofness, as she always did, and attempted to coax him back.

"Yamada-kun!" He reluctantly looked up to see her beaming broadly at him. She made a noise with her throat that deigned contentedness. "You're such a sweet boy. I'd never be able to stand this place without you coming in sometimes."

Hanatarou shuffled his feet. "Don't say that, Tanako-san. The nurses are good people, they want to help you."

She clucked her tongue at him, smiled down with a curious, pitying expression. "They get to you of course, at times. But you're a sensible man, I know you to snap out of it."

He decided it high time to change the topic. "Well, it looks like you're healing very fast, Tanako-san!"

Her eyes followed him around the room, shuffling the papers, adjusting the wrinkles on her sheets.

"Your husband came to visit you today!" Hanatarou said cheerfully, pulling in the window's curtains. "You were away for x-rays at the time, so he couldn't stay long enough to catch you, but he did say he'd be returning later tonight, around eight o'clock!"

"Yamada-kun." There was a sudden distinct note to her voice, shrill and delusional, that Hanatarou found very difficult to ignore, as the nurses did. "Stay with me. Please."

"I can't, Tanako-san. I've got an exam tomorrow morning and I haven't had time to study all day." Hanatarou smiled apologetically.

"Stay." She sat up in her bed, and suddenly jerked at the restraints at her arms. "Stay! Stay stay STAY!" The flailing began, angry and reckless and oblivious to any creation of fresh bruising.

"Tanako-san!" cried Hanatarou, rushing to her side and attempting to halt her flaying. She rocked back and forth, to wriggle out of his weak hold. "Tanako-san, please! Please!"

Five minutes were spent by such a sordid struggle. Slowly, her thrashing arms tired, her clenched jaw ceased in its vigorous grinding. Hanatarou's own relatively weak hold on her was released, and dark red hand imprints left themselves on her spindly arms. She lowered her head, panting from the effort, as was Hanatarou.

"It's killing me, Yamada-kun." She lifted her hands from her lap for a moment, and let them fall, the connected wires clattering with the motion. "This…disease."

"You're not sick."

"It's a different kind of disease." She shook, in laughter. "And it's more noticeable than the other kind. See, you can see it. So can the nurses. So can I. The only one who can't is _him._ My husband."

Her right hand lifted abruptly, outstretched towards him, and Hanatarou somehow found himself taking it, his own hand finding hers and entwining the thin fingers together with his. He took the seat in the chair at the bedside and comforted her with his hand's warmth.

She rubbed the small knuckles under his skin and reveled in the surprising protection she found, the youngness of him. Her body couldn't stop shaking now.

He moved slightly as if to hesitate and retreat, then suddenly reached over to wrap his arms around the bony length of her, moving his hands up and down her sides, over her arms, down her waist, like he used to for his old mother, when she would take sick during winter. The shaking let off slightly. Her breath blew warm air onto the back of his neck.

"Are you staying, then? Yamada-kun." She shivered.

"Maybe." He replied slowly. "I don't know, Tanako-san."

She exhaled deeply. "Then I don't know, either."

He let her rest her cheek on the lower part of his shoulder, where his jacket's zipper must have been pressing uncomfortably into her skin. (she wouldn't mind)

They sat like so for the rest of the time, motionless, until the clock had struck long past eight and still no one came.

.

* * *

**closing notes:** ogod this was a monster of a chapter. i am seriously considering just doing 'Important Scenes From Bleach Manga That Reverses Ichigo and Rukia!' version for this fic honestly. i mean no one _really_ cares about how everyone gets all funked up from rukia's spirit energy and grow their powers right?? be honest, we all just want to get to the soul society arc to see rukia freak out over a naked yoruichi! AMIRITE. 

OK maybe not! on another note—i am debating whether or not to pull chad out for team rukia. because, be honest—we all _really_ want to see ichigo get catapulted up into the air by chad, get trashed by some hollow, then fall into chad's arms. s-_so awesome!!_


	5. the pinkcheeked parakeet

**ch 5 . The Pink Cheeked Parakeet**

"Hana!"

The young man drowsily looked up. "Oh, Ganjyu-san!" He greeted pleasantly. "How are you today?"

"Nevermind that," the man waved aside brusquely, "I heard there was damage in the area where you live, in the apartments! So what happened?!"

"Ahh," Hanatarou chuckled uneasily, "I-it's very strange, and no one seems to want to believe me—"

"Get on with it!" His friend cut him off impatiently, stomping his mop on the spotless hospital floor for emphasis. A nearby patient sitting on the bench in repose, an elderly woman, jumped at the repeated stomps.

"Ah, right right, sorry," Hanatarou eyed the mop warily. "Well, you see, there was a car accident, and the traveling circus happened to be passing the street at the time, when one of the clowns suddenly had a breakdown and agitated the elephants inside the trucks into anger—"

Ganjyu stared skeptically as Hanatarou, nervous storyteller as he was, finished his story with relish.

"Pretty amazing, isn't it, Ganjyu-san?"

"Hana—" Ganjyu struggled to find words. "You need to take a vacation, I think."

Hanatarou lightly touched his shoulder; he could feel the bandage shifting under his fingers. He gave Ganjyu an uncertain grin.

-----

"Mannn, it sure is a nice day out!" Ichigo stretched his arms and settled comfortably against the school roof railing. "How 'bout that math test, eh? Good thing I looked over that quiet kid's shoulder!"

"Hn," was all Rukia said in return. She gingerly prodded at the skin of her forehead, which, covered though it was by her heavy bangs, was throbbing within a sizeable lump, bruised and swollen. Her reward was a stinging sensation that wincingly drew away her offending hand. Ichigo tried not to notice, guiltily.

"We could've gone to the hospital for you too, you know," he said uncomfortably.

"No, we couldn't have," Rukia rightly assessed in a very matter-of-fact manner. "Yamada was losing much too blood at his rate. To go back to my house and retrieve my body would've been foolish. Though," and she shook her head with amusement, "It was a bit funny, the odd looks you got when carrying him in."

Ichigo scowled at the memory. "What was up with that, anyway? They've never seen a guy with red hair before?"

"Not ones that aren't juvenile delinquents, at least," Rukia teased. She suddenly remembered something. "Oh! And you were wearing my brother's robes!" She frowned. "How are you getting all of your other clothes, in fact? That polo you were wearing the other day looked awfully familiar—"

"Kuchiki-san!" The voice that greeted them was excitedly surprised. The two looked up to see Asano Keigo, looking happily from Rukia to Ichigo—to Rukia—then again to Ichigo, in horror.

"Kuchiki-san." Kojima Mizuiru greeted, smiling charmingly from behind an aghast Keigo. "You don't usually sit on the roof, do you? Mind if we join you?"

"Yes, that's fine, thank you." Rukia acquiesced politely, moving aside her school bag to allow for more room in the corner. Mizuiru calmly sat himself down across from the set company; Keigo tremblingly followed, unable to tear his eyes away from the complacent image of Rukia and Ichigo sitting next to each other.

"S-s-so how are you, Kuchiki-san?" Keigo quivered.

"Very well, Asano-kun." Rukia replied distractedly, brushing her hair down lower over her face, just to be careful.

"And y-y-you, K-kurosaki-san?"

"Huh?" Ichigo said dumbly, looking up from the formidable opponent of a juice box in his hands. "Oh, uh, yeah. Yo." He coolly lifted a hand, and cleverly dropped the straw he had been stabbing into the cardboard. Grumbling, he leaned over to pick up the straw, rolled off just out of reach—

The thin plastic bent and crumpled at the force of a large shoe over it. Ichigo's eye twitched in irritation before looking up at the owner of the shoe, a particularly ugly high school boy with badly bleached hair, sneering and sloppily dressed, flanked by a smaller, similarly foul-looking boy.

"You." The boy snarled.

"O-ooshima!" Keigo squeaked. "They lifted his suspension already?" mused Mizuiru.

Ichigo lifted a brow, leaned back again leisurely against the wall, the juice box-and-straw quest forgotten. "Yeah, me. Should I know you?"

"You're that transfer student, aren't you? In the freshman class." Ooshima motioned with his hand at the general area around Ichigo's upper body. "What's with the hair, huh? And that face. You're trying to copy me, aren't you?"

Ichigo snorted despite himself. "Copy you? Who'd want to copy _that_ face?" He went to wrinkle his brow at the gaudy hair. "And that _hair._ Ugh. Slicked back and all. You look like a chicken head."

"CHI—" Ooshima sputtered.

"'Chicken head'?" Rukia said dubiously, watching the going-on's in vague interest.

"Hey hey hey!" Keigo nervously cut in before Ooshima. "Let us go, yeah? There's a lady with us ("Where?" Ichigo deadpanned. Rukia swiftly kicked him), and we know you're strong; we can't beat you, Ooshima! I'm sure Kurosaki-san didn't mean anything by that!"

"Yeah, I did." Ichigo nonchalantly called out. "I meant every word. Do something about your hair, chicken face. Before you go off and lay eggs somewhere." (Nearby, Keigo's spirit shattered.)

"EGGS—" frothed Ooshima. He'd had enough. He unveiled a sharp-cut set of iron knuckles from inside his school jacket and smirked. "I figured I'd have to deal with you sooner or later. A new kid's gotta learn the rules of the school, right? Where his place is."

"Ooshima!" Keigo wailed, dancing before him. "Please don't! Not in front of the gentle ladies present!"

"No, actually, I insist." Rukia announced calmly from her seat on the floor. "Please continue." (Keigo convulsed as if he'd been stabbed.)

"You're in the way, Asano!" Ooshima growled. "Stop being such a damn pest!" He lifted his fist, prepared to strike. Keigo shrank and found his feet frozen on spot.

Idly, as if he was simply going about his daily routine, Ichigo hoisted himself up by his arms, pushed off, and slid through the space between Keigo's legs. Ooshima barely had time to react before Ichigo, lying sideways on his hip, raised a strong kick.

"AUGH." Ooshima flew and landed a few feet aways. "AUGHHH."

"That…was sort of dirty, Kurosaki-san." Mizuiru observed.

"That was…_amazing._" Keigo enthused. "I-ichigo, was it? May I call you Ichigo? THAT WAS AMAZING, ICHIGO." Keigo flailed in pure ecstasy. "You saved my life! How can I ever repay you"

"You were the one who wanted to avoid the fight so badly." stated Mizuiru. Keigo turned to him, beaming furiously. "That's because I didn't know we would _live_! Sitting with Kuchiki-san and her bodyguard is great!"

"Hey, hey." Ichigo waved, sitting back down and stoically, privately lamenting the loss of the straw. "Knock that off! I'm not her bodyguard."

"Oh? So are you two something…more?" Had Mizuiru been old and creepy enough, he might've waggled his eyebrows at the last part. Rukia stared at him, horrified, which seemed to be the answer that comforted Keigo the most.

"It's so nice eating with you, Ichigo, Kuchiki-san" Keigo trilled. Ichigo grunted something in reply, staring intently at the juice box as if it contained some incredible secret. Something tremendous cast a shadow over Keigo just as he opened his mouth to take a bite of his sandwich. "Ehh—?" Keigo apprehensively turned, expecting to see a furious Ooshima. "Chad!"

"Mm," Sado greeted.

Rukia looked up, genuine pleasure openly displayed in her eyes as the tall boy sat down. "Sado—" Her eyes darkened in surprise. "You're wounded!"

"Mm?" Sado felt the eyes glued to his forehead. He touched his temple, and remembered. "Ah. A steel beam fell on me."

The sandwich fell out of Keigo's mouth. Rukia choked on her juice, putting her hand to her throat and politely turning it into a mild cough.

"Ah, and this is from a few hours ago, when a motorcyclist hit me. I had to carry him to the hospital."

At this point, Keigo and Mizuiru simply could not refrain from spluttering incomprehensibly at Sado, their voices blending into a catatonic symphony of bewildered cries and mad shouts, arms waving frantically in the air with no true sense of direction or control. Sado, in the mean time, confronted by this confusing combination of bellowing and flailing, turned to the steel cage that he had set by his side and knelt down, tending to the tiny bird that fluttered its wings to the wire edge and greeted Sado's extended finger with charming enthusiasm.

Keigo was almost immediately distracted. "Ehh, a parakeet, Chad?? Did that belong to the motorcycle guy?"

The bird turned to the new voice, distinguished from Sado's deep baritone, and practically _bowed_ before Keigo, strange as it seemed. "Hello! My name is Shibuya Yuichi. Pleased to meet you!"

A new, even more powerful wave of shouting noise overwhelmed the school rooftop. "WUOOOHHHH"

Rukia had been staring at the bird from the start; from the moment Sado had finished his excuse for being late. Ichigo, similarly focused, nudged her elbow to get her attention.

"Don't worry," he said, knowing exactly what Rukia had been thinking. She turned to him with a set mouth, her eyes lined in just that, worry.

"AMAZINGGG—"

"It's just a lost spirit." Ichigo went on, "Probably took shelter in the body of a tame bird, trying to feel less lonely."

"—EWAN MCGREGOR—"

"There's no real harm in it," he finished. "We'll give it a spirit burial tonight. For now, it's fine."

Rukia's expression dampened, and she turned to look at the bird again, chirping full sentences happily as Keigo practically frolicked in excited abandon. Sado, still knelt down on one knee, was feeding the parakeet bits of his sandwich.

-----

"I'd like some of those, please. Oh, and two of those cream puffs." Rukia smiled her thanks. Ichigo shoved his hands into his pockets, delinquent-style, and scowled. "What're we doing here? You eat too much and you'll get fat, you know."

He felt devil eyes on the back of his head. "The household staff likes this bakery a lot. I go here sometimes for them as a treat. It's the least I can do.

"…also, Brother has a sweet tooth." Rukia bowed back to the cashier and dismissively ignored Ichigo's presence as she walked to the door. "Besides, there's no need for _you _to wait for me, you seem plenty fine wriggling through my bedroom window on your own. What?" She snapped to a young boy nearby, who fearfully toddled away.

"Your _unreasonably high _bedroom window, for the record." Ichigo interjected. Rukia rolled her eyes and opened the pink pastry box. "Here." She brusquely shoved a cream puff into his mouth.

"H-hey!!—gleghh." choked Ichigo. Once getting over his initial surprise and anger at having a pastry shoved down his throat: "…delicious."

Two loud crashes, one after the other, interrupted Ichigo's lazy ecstasy over the strange concept of the 'cream puff', and jerked Rukia's head up.

There was a stink of a Hollow nearby.

"Wha' 'apperned?" Ichigo said, his mouth still full.

They stood in front of the bakery at a standstill. The people sitting inside put their faces to the glass walls in curiosity. After two minutes, a man came sprinting towards them from the corner of the street, hunched over and almost winded.

"Car crash—down at the cross street—" he panted. "Call the ambulance—_now_!"

Rukia and Ichigo looked at each other as the activity inside the bakery propelled into a commotion. They stared after as the man was escorted inside for water and some rest. Rukia bit her lip anxiously. "I felt…"

"—a Hollow, right?" Ichigo's face hardened (rather comically, for there was still a good half of the cream puff remaining in his mouth). "Come on, let's go."

The scene they arrived to was devastating; a huge car pileup lay on one street, while a more chaotic arrangement of smashed vehicles lay in the center of the intersection. The ambulance had just arrived and began moving victims into care.

Rukia searched the area carefully. "I can't sense it anymore."

"Probably went back to the Hollow world." Ichigo winced at the most immediate scene of carnage a few feet away from them. "So this is what you get for driving those steel box death trap things, huh? I think shun-po's kind of infinitely preferable, but humans are weird I guess, they like what they like—"

"Sado." Rukia widened her eyes. "Sado!"

A dark mop of tangled curls and sweat turned towards the source of the shrill cry calling his name. "Rukia." He took a step back and coughed, lost his footing and braced the hard ground with his body. The caged bird beside his swollen head chirped anxiously.

Before Rukia moved to help him, the paramedics swooped in and struggled to get Sado onto a stretcher. There was a brief struggle as Sado – amazingly, conscious – held in his iron grip the birdcage, and the paramedics argued amongst themselves whether it would be sensible or even sanitary to bring it along.

They give up when they cannot pry it from his fingers, and hurry him into the ambulance. Rukia and Ichigo, once more, exchange glances, and take off at a run.

"Ah, Yasutora Sado?" The nurse cheerfully checked the clipboard in her arms. "One of the new admits? Yes, he'll be perfectly fine, with plenty of rest. I'm afraid you can't see him just yet, however; the blood loss was considerable, and we're currently checking for any internal bleeding."

"But—his injuries? Was there anything unusual?" pressed Rukia. The nurse pursed her lips. "That is—when _can _we see him? I-it's urgent. It's very important that we see him."

"What, I suppose you two are related to him?" The nurse asked dryly. "Please, give him some time to recover. If you'll excuse me."

The woman took off at a brisk pace. Rukia stared after her helplessly. "What do we do now?"

Ichigo flicked her head in reply ("Ah! _You bastard_") with a bored look on his face. "What do you think we do now? Y'know, even in Soul Society, it takes a little bit of time for 4th Division to heal a shinigami. Let's sit and wait."

It was all very well and good for him to say, thought Rukia as she took her place down in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs in the waiting room, next to an unfortunate man with a kitchen knife in his thigh (he smiled at them, and Rukia weakly smiled back), but she had known Sado long enough to know that he never fell down.

It was not a car crash that he had gotten mixed up in. A Hollow specifically targeted him, for whatever reason, and of course Sado could not defend himself. Rukia balled up her hands into fists.

She could help him with this.

"Let's go find that guy," whispered Ichigo impatiently. Startled, Rukia swiveled her head and stared at him. "What? But you _just ­_said—"

He gave her a pointed look and didn't say another word, only got up and began walking towards the closest hallway out of the entrance area. Rukia bit her tongue and tried to resist hissing like a cat and uneasily followed him, unsure and restless and young in her bones.

Sado was having a hard time of it. The chasing, the running, the constant internal monologues in his mind. He wasn't the internal monologue kind of guy. He could leave that kind of stuff to, say, Rukia—that was much more her style. But this?

An invisible god hand smashed down on pavement. Sado tripped on his foot and stumbled for a brief moment in his quick pace. The parakeet squeaked in protest at the wires that rattled its cage.

"Mister, mister! Are you OK?"

_You know,_ Sado thought as his legs ran tirelessly, _I used to be. _

"Mister, go back to the hospital! You're too hurt!"

"I can't do that. There're too many people there."

"But—" The parakeet raised and lowered its wings in agitation, flapping vigorously. "Mister!"

"Don't worry about it," Sado dashed away from another explosion of crumbling pavement and rising debris. "You're safer this way. I'll protect you."

"That's not what I mean!" The parakeet wailed. "Just save yourself now, mister! Don't worry about me anymore. Because, because everyone who takes care of me goes away! It's my fault!"

"That's enough, Yuichi. You're going to be OK." Sado found better footing, tightened his grip on the cage, and took off at a sprint.

Some considerable distance away, Rukia and Ichigo stood in front of an empty hospital bed, the tucked-in sheets abandoned and strewn over. The window was open. Ichigo made a frustrated noise with his throat. "Man, what was the point of hiding and sneaking past everyone then?"

The lines of Rukia's mouth were worn thinner. "How do we find him?"

"Eh?" Ichigo tapped his chin. "Well, normally I could identify unique spirit energy (that's how I found you, after all), except, er, this Sado kid doesn't have any amount to speak of, and it wouldn't show unless he's a disembodied soul—which would be too late to be any use, I figure."

Rukia clutched at the metal frame supporting the bed. "That bird. The parakeet he has with him. Couldn't I sense the spirit inside of it?"

Ichigo paused. He looked as if he was about to shoot down the idea, and instead only quietly watched as Rukia was already underway in the search, closed eyes marking concentration. Rukia scrunched up her face and frowned. Ichigo watched with a lazily indifferent front.

Hundreds of ribbons shot up from the ground. Ichigo watched as her small hand shot out, perhaps an inch away from his face, and seized a small white ribbon tail, Rukia's face set with determined satisfaction.

"This one!" Rukia turned her face to Ichigo, her eyes burning in their confidence and assurance. "It's this one! I know where he is, let's go."

Ichigo tailed behind her wordlessly, trying very very and commendably hard not to sputter insensibly at the utter impossibility of what had just passed.

He tried, but it didn't work out.

"OH COME ON."

Rukia made a face. "What are you bellowing on about? Keep an eye out for Sado!"

"It's not too hard to miss him, Rukia, he kind of stands out. And HOW DID YOU KNOW TO DO THAT."

"DO WHAT." Matching bellow for bellow.

"CONJURE UP SPIRIT RIBBONS. IT TAKES LIKE AT LEAST A NOVICE IN THE SHINIGAMI ACADEMY TO—"

Sado ran by the shouting pair in a discreet fashion that should not have been possible for a boy of his stature and flower motif-heavy fashion sense. Ichigo and Rukia paused for but a moment, and took off after him.

Rukia ran with fleet-footed agility that befitted any titled and seated shinigami of the high court. Ichigo panted behind, summoning all his effort into those stiff and useless legs of the gigai to move ('_Special discount,' my ass,_ thought Ichigo) and trying not to think

_What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck __**is she**_

"What did you say?" Rukia called back at Ichigo, some twenty yards behind.

"What? I didn't say anything."

Rukia frowned. "Then what—"

"Delicious!" Something cackled. Rukia and Ichigo looked in horror as a green tentacle…appendage… _thing_, slowly crawled up Rukia's leg from a curiously liquidated cement ground. Ichigo thought faster, and bounded forward to kick it away—and in the process, aside from creating a fresh bruise on Rukia's shin, becoming entrapped in a separate tentacle thing of his own.

Rukia prepared to return Ichigo the favor with a nice kick from her black school shoes, but they needn't have worried, because the tentacle immediately recoiled after a second's thought. "Not delicious!" It cried with a repulsed shudder in its tone.

Ichigo looked at Rukia. "The fuck?"

The hollow jumped up from transient concrete to solid footing, level with its prey. "The first, I want the first," it hissed hungrily. "She smells delicate, and fresh." Its beady eyes seemed to fix itself momentarily on Ichigo and lost its hunger. "He smells like feet."

"Go to hell!"

"Oh, but I have," The hollow whispered, seeming to wet its mouth as it stared at Rukia again, "and it's been awful without the sweet taste of women about. The lovely female, the nobler of the sexes…"

"This hollow is disgusting." Rukia wrinkled her nose. "Quick, change me while he's monologuing."

"Right," and Ichigo retrieved his glove from his pocket, but not before a stray and unnoticed tentacle knocked the wind out of him. Rukia looked on in horror as a fresh wound opened up on Ichigo's arm, lying limp on the ground with the rest of his body.

"Now," the hollow sang as it shifted its weight, "stay still like a good girl, would you?" It moved closer, and Rukia found she could not breathe, let alone move, and speaking of moving Ichigo was in no condition to do any such thing she couldn't breathe—

"Rukia!" Something large and fast bowled over into the hollow's front, a blur in (Rukia realized, affronted by her own self) watery eyes. The hollow snarled and disappeared from view, though with the way Sado was feeling around blindly with his arms, he hadn't realized.

"Sado." He looked up, terribly weakened from the strain (oh and the giant gaping wound on his back, natch) but with something of that quiet, peaceful look Rukia so enjoyed seeing on him.

"I don't even like the nickname, but sometimes, I wish you would call me Chad too."

She wanted to cry. "Ichigo, he—"

There was very little time. The next minute passed as a blur, Sado picking up Ichigo like a rag doll and shouting for her to run, and Rukia hardly moving at all (idiot idiot why would _I _run you're the one who's in terrible danger) until everything just _clicked _and she realized what needed to be done.

"Sado, please take care of Ichigo for a bit!" Rukia called out, feeling rather ridiculous for the polite calmness that her words insinuated—but there was very very little time and she was gone at a sprint, and Sado indulged her for a moment, when he realized it was entirely too silent. The monster—

"It's after her now." The cage he'd hastily dropped onto the ground was lying sideways, but to its credit, the parakeet had made no fuss about it, not when it saw its protector dive into an invisible battle. It knew too well what Sado's next actions were to be. "Please, mister—"

"You can wait here, can't you, Yuichi?" Gentle giant. He carefully uprighted the cage, and for a moment stood hesitant, then set Ichigo down against the wall next to it.

It railed against the wires of the cage. "Mister, stop! You'll die!"

Next to it, Ichigo blearily cracked open one eye.

-----

She was bleeding. She wasn't quite sure _how _that had come about exactly, but that was what was happening.

Sado was bleeding too, apparently. He laid some distance away, clearly unconscious.

He was bleeding harder.

"Nnf… She pulled herself up, dragged her arm across the cement and lifted back; swayed, steadied. No, wait. Everything was still quite blurry—but that would be the cut from her head dripping down into her eye. She blinked. Nothing changed. She was getting sick of this. At least it wasn't tears.

"That's right. I won't cry anymore. I can give Ichigo that much, can't I?" She said slowly to herself. "If he picked me… to be his partner… I can help him. I have to pay my debt off to him."

"Talking to yourself?" The hollow slithered into her partially obstructed view. "Delirious from loss of blood? So close to death soon, I see! I'd much rather see you try to run away, dripping in blood." It laughed.

"You sick—" Rukia cried, but suddenly stopped at seeing the cage next to the hollow. The parakeet was looking anxiously through the wires at Sado's still body.

"I'm sorry, mister!" The parakeet wailed and, Rukia imagined, had it human limbs, would've covered its face with a hand or wing. "But-but—my mom—and he—"

"Quiet." The hollow slinked towards her. "I like my meals without noisy distraction."

She smiled bitterly through the blood. "I'm afraid you'll have to go on a bit longer without eating, then."

"What?"

Ichigo's foot stepped into the Hollow's head like a shovel cracking hard soil. He glared at Rukia from his heightened position, and she glared back with her good eye. "Tch! Trying to talk so cool, when you're almost dying like this."

"I wouldn't have died," Rukia said. "I was just waiting for you."

For little reason, Ichigo flushed, but he had the glove out already on his hand and he leapt forward just as the Hollow angrily slashed out at somewhere above it and she knew no more and much much less—

-----

The parakeet waited for Ichigo's diagnosis. He crinkled his forehead, made a face, scratched at his head rather inexpertly. "The chain of fate looks completely disconnected… doesn't look like you can return to your body anymore, guy."

It attained an astonishing level of disappointment on its face for a bird.

"B-but don't worry!" Ichigo chuckled (Rukia was reminded of his fairly expert bedside manner for departing souls). "Soul Society is a good place. You'll be OK there, I'm certain of it." He smiled.

"His mother!" Rukia almost shouted and made all the present company start. She was excited, almost childlike, as she crouched and faced the small bird. "You'll be able to see your mother, won't you? She' s in the same place, after all!"

The parakeet seemed a good deal cheered up by measures after that, as Rukia performed the ritual. (Ichigo wasn't too impressed by Rukia's own bedside technique, but could hardly blame her for her lack of knowledge of the other world. Shibata would realize the truth soon enough once he got over to the other side, he just—didn't want to ruin this peaceful mood…)

Sado and Shibata said their parting words, and Rukia felt something twist sharply inside of her as Sado looked upon the vanishing soul, however faint and invisible he was, with something very close to fraternal fondness.

The moonlight was disturbed by the bright light of the soul departure, and as the darkness and solemn silence fell into place once again Rukia suddenly realized that Sado and Ichigo were just awkwardly standing by each other as Rukia waved incessantly and invisibly at the former.

Sado seemed to be trying to find words (never his personal strong point) to tell Ichigo. "I—"

He fell over at the next moment, stunned by the projectile memory eraser.

**author's notes:** i am awful for my sporadic updates and the length of time that passes between each one! really, really sorry; however (EVEN I SAY THIS ONLY LIKE EVERY TIME) next chapter should go by preeetty quickly because it is MOD SOUL CRAZY TIMES and we all want to see chappy try to get into all the boys' pants hellyessss


	6. SCHOOL DAZE!

title: blank  
rating: pg-13  
disclaimers: i do not own bleach or its characters!!  
author's notes: this...is actually not too bad of an update length of time passed, honestly! it's pretty good for me! PUMP FIST YESS, so here is the chapter, i hope you appreciate girl-kon, because frankly she is hilarious and annoying and basically i hope to make her every bit as nasty as kon because i don't believe in sexist double-standards ahaha

**chapter 6 . SCHOOL DAZE!!!**

"The crowd has gone silent with tension. The score is 2-1 on a blistering hot day, too hot for spring yet, as sweat rolls down the face of the man of the hour. The last inning, with two outs made by the ace pitcher—but no match for batter number 4, Hanakari Jinta!! The ball comes soaring in—Hanakari swings—SMASH!! HOME RUN, HANAKARI HAS WON HIS TEAM THE CUP! THE CROWD GOES WILD—"

"Mr. Tessai-san will get angry that you're not sweeping."

"Shut up, Ururu! Tch, like I'd be scared—"

"But you are, aren't you?"

"YOU'RE ANNOYING. TAKE THAT."

"Oww! S-stop that, Jinta-kun, I'm older than you—"

"You're below me still! AND THAT—!! A-ahh—?"

"Stop that, shrimp. Show some respect, she's older than you. Is the manager in?"

"Orange-kun! Heh, you look pretty beat up. I guess the substitute isn't doing so well, huh!"

"...Where's the manager."

Tessai poked his head out of the shop doors. "Oh, Kurosaki-san! Welcome back!"

"Oi, Tessai. Sorry for coming like this. Is the Manager around?"

"He is indeed!" A new voice appeared from somewhere behind Tessai's formidable frame. "Open the doors, Tessai, we do special hours for our best customers!" He yawned luxuriously as Ichigo stepped inside, followed by a shy Ururu and a smirking Jinta.

Urahara showed no particular surprise in his face, only injected a healthy dosage into his voice as he hid behind his fan and sat down. "Well, Kurosaki-san! You don't look so good today!"

Ichigo sat down, gingerly, and wincing yet. The motion had just caused a few of his wounds to reopen. He hoped he wouldn't bleed on the floor, Urahara would charge him for it. "Do you have to sound so damn cheerful about it? Anyway, it's fine. I just came for some _free refills_."

The motley team of shopworkers burst into laughter around him. "An excellent joke, Kurosaki-san!" chortled Urahara, wiping away a tear. "Free refills! Me! FREE! It's too funny…" Next to him, Tessai shook his shoulders with mirth. Jinta was crying right along with Urahara, and Ururu slipped into a meek smile she tried to hide.

Ichigo had been studying his oddly stiff fingers. He flexed them once, dissatisfied. Then shot them out at the neck of the manager's clothes, seizing them toward his own face. Tessai started, and Jinta fell silent, but Urahara was still smiling yet, giggles bursting out at odd moments.

Ichigo was smiling slightly as well. "You sold me a dysfunctional gigai, Urahara. This piece of shit doesn't do a thing. A hollow the other day wiped me out cold with a flick of its _weak ass tentacle_, an appendage that wasn't even part of its main defensive anatomy. As a paying customer, I should want my refund, or at the very least, you ought to offer me a _really good deal_ right about now. Except I know you. You knew you were selling me something off."

Urahara gave the affronted look of an honest merchant. "Kurosaki-san, I would never! I tailored your gigai perfectly to your form. I am a _connoisseur _of gigai structure, you know that about me as well!" His eyes lowered to the bandages that very nearly covered and swallowed Ichigo whole to mummification. "At best, the only explanation I can really give you is that, perhaps, with your history of volatile spirit energies, and the extreme changes in pressure and temperature that such volatility leads to, the gigai is worn out much faster than the usual decay rate."

Ichigo frowned to himself, recalling and freshly loathing the theory classes he had taken at the Academy. Distracted as such, Urahara slyly slipped in, "and perhaps the wanton actions and movement of your _pupil_ has exhausted both of your facilities much more than two or three low-level hollows should."

This brought Ichigo back in, sharply. He glowered, Urahara projected innocently back. Ichigo sighed at length, and released Urahara's shirt. "I want a discount."

"Very well." Urahara tidied up the wrinkles accumulated on his shirt front and gave his cheeriest smile. "We have a few new selections for you today! And your order came in, Ururu, be a dear and fetch it from the back!"

-----

"OK, repeat after me! Asano Keigo looks like Ewan McGregor!"

"A—"

"Yes, yes!"

"A—"

"Yes??"

"Adori Hepuuberunu!"

"YES." Keigo paused. "No, no, no no no wait! That's not it at all!"

"The bird has a much smaller vocabulary today." Mizuiru peered inquisitively at the bird perched on Sado's left shoulder. "Did something happen, Chad?"

On Sado's right (not necessarily perched on his shoulder, though there was little doubt she could fit; sitting at a desk adjacent to Sado and the other two crowded around the bird, rather), Rukia looked up, alarmed.

Sado 'mmm'd at the question and thought for a pensive moment. (Rukia felt sweat at her brow.) "…Mm. I don't know, he was like that when I woke up this morning."

Rukia's shoulder's sagged, and she lowered the book restlessly in front of her with her body slumped forward, chin hitting the desk surface. She was exhausted, through and through.

Mizuiru looked surprised at her sudden relaxed pose. "Is everything alright, Kuchiki-san? Your posture is not at all pin straight as it always is."

Keigo warded off Mizuiru's treachery. "Nonsense, Mizuiru!! Kuchiki-san is as stunning as she always is--though, I do admit, Kuchiki-san, you seem very tired!"

Rukia closed her eyes when she felt Sado's move to her, the weight of them bearing down. She imagined they could pierce through and see the bandages covering the entirety of her arms—the reason why she had worn her winter uniform today, on a warm and muggy May morning.

"I'm fine, thank you." No sooner had the words left her mouth when Ichigo swooped into the room, flinging back the door, fervently scanning, and spotting his target with the perking of his head. Rukia froze. Ichigo did the opposite, bounding across the room in two seconds and seizing the arm still clutching the book. "H-hey!!"

"Oh, Kuchiki-san," Ichigo began pleasantly enough, "Looks like the school bully wants your head. He said to come meet him during lunch, you're late, Kuchiki-san! You don't want him to think you're chicken, do you?" He yanked, and Rukia flew behind him like a ragged kite caught in a fierce wind.

Keigo looked on despairingly as Mizuiru absentmindedly consoled him. "I'm sure they're just close friends! And failing that, they probably haven't done anything too serious yet, judging by their body language."

Keigo jerked his upper body, as if shot.

Sado stared contemplatively at the doorway the pair had just fled through, just stared and stared.

"HERE. Ungrateful bitch." Ichigo resentfully rubbed the spot on his shin were Rukia had struck him. ("A _fight?_ With the _school bully?_ Like the name of Kuchiki would ever be sullied by any such activities!! Just imagine, this will get back to my family, you asshole!")

Rukia pondered over the curious thing Ichigo had tossed at her, narrowly missing her skull. It was shaped like a pill bottle, save for a dainty and lovingly crafted bunny head affixed on top. It beamed merrily at her. She felt her heart warm.

"…cute." She murmured happily.

"_Cute?_" Ichigo seized the thing back from her, and instantly recoiled at the sight of the adorable rabbit icon. "Ugh. I told Sandal-hat to just give me the damn dog one, but he insisted he'd only validate the discount if I bought the fucking rabbit." He tossed it back (Rukia scrambled for it and protectively cradled it close to her heart). "It's for you. _Gikongan. _Pill-form, used to forcibly pull the spirit out of the body. It's normally used for spirits who won't let go of their bodies, but…"

"In case you're not around?" Rukia finished. Ichigo nodded. "Once you swallow the pill, a temporary soul will enter your body to replace the real one coming out. Try it, push the head down."

"It says 'Soul Candy'." Rukia puzzled.

"Yeah, so?"

"You said 'gikongan'."

Ichigo coughed, embarrassed. "Whatever. Just try it."

Rukia tightly pressed down (regretfully) on the bunny head and opened her mouth. It was a curious sensation, as it always was whenever Ichigo shoved his gloved hand straight at her head; being forcibly pulled away from your body was hardly a pleasure ride for a soul. _But then_, Rukia thought, as she felt herself lift away from her own body, _I can only imagine how strange it must feel for that temporary soul to enter an alien body._

Stranger still was staring back at herself while standing separately. Ichigo looked on proudly, as if it had been his handiwork and doing, as Rukia marveled at the sight of herself. (Conclusion: she had an awkwardly large head disproportionate to an awkwardly small body. Quite a terrible shame, she obviously did not inherit the Kuchiki genetic lottery.)

"How do you do?" Not-Rukia intoned politely. "My name is Kuchiki Rukia. Please treat me kindly!" She bowed with impeccable poise.

"It's…just like me. But better." Rukia still stared, almost disappointed. She had no real reason why.

Ichigo snorted. "You mean that soulless act I see you pull sometimes? Well, that's hardly the real you, I know firsthand. All I have to do is piss you off." Before Rukia could retort, he stepped out of striking range to answer the beeping cell phone.

"It's an order!" He nodded militantly and shut the cell phone. "Excellent, we'll try it out now.

"Eh?" Rukia frowned, but was yanked again by Ichigo. They were already halfway across the schoolyard. "You! Er, me! Please go to my next class for me!" She shouted back at herself, waving them smilingly away.

"As you wish, master!" The temp soul replied cheerily.

-----

"How inexplicable! All of a sudden, Miss Kuchiki has grown two stomachs!" One of the maids jibed as they tidied up the large room. The other maids tittered accordingly. "What's more mysterious, is where all the food is going. She hasn't kept on any weight since the day I met her."

One of them mused thoughtfully. "Perhaps it's going all to her head."

They were all prepared to laugh, but were struck simultaneously by how highly possible it seemed. "Her head _does_seem to be getting bigger, doesn't it?"

-----

"Yaaa!" The temp leaped into the air. She bubbled over, 20 feet in the air, at her luck. "Uohhh, I got such a cool power!! I'm so happy!"

A teacher walking across campus stopped dead in his tracks at the sight. The coffee dropped from his hand and spilled onto the concrete. The soul wondered what he could be looking so amazed at.

"Iyaa, PERVERT!" She clamped her hands firmly on her waist to keep her skirt in place as she began to lose height. The teacher flinched. "No, no!! That's not it!!" The wiser thing to have done, rather than having to defend his honor to a girl less than 5 feet tall, would have been to simply walk away. However, he gaped yet, and the temporary soul grew flustered at his shamelessness as she landed back on earth with the lightest step.

"Gyahhhh, I'm not into old perverts like you! Take THAT!" A well-landed round kick found its way to Sensei Kanami's stomach. He flew back five or six feet, dazedly protesting mentally against his accused perverted ways.

Three stories above, Keigo leaned up against the window ledge, practically half dead, his torso dangling dangerously over, purposely, to show his threat to be real.

"Please don't kill yourself." Mizuiru yawned mid-bite in a mouthful of rice.

Keigo sniffed at Mizuiru's utter lack of concern. "Your halfhearted attempts to stop me hurt more than anything, you bastard Mizuiru!! T-the only thing that could save me now, perhaps…is some of that delicious-looking bento you have…"

"Can't." Mizuiru cut. "One of my girlfriends made this for me. She'll get really mad if I let someone else eat it. It's really very good."

"One!" Keigo gave a little spasm. "Of your girlfriends!" He gave leeway to a seizure on the floor, frothing everywhere. In the seat diagonal from the spectacle, Kuneida Ryo calmly picked up her things and left for a seat on the other side of the room, stepping over Keigo as if he did not exist.

Mizuiru gave a pointed look at Keigo, seconds away now from jumping. "That is why you do not have any homemade bentos."

"Tormentors!" Keigo cried piteously. "All of you, my tormentors!! FAREWELL." He pitched one leg up onto the ledge and would have pitched the other one up there as well, but the next second and a second, foreign foot appeared where his should have been.

"Oh?" Is this class 3-1?" Not-Rukia pursed her lips. She was balancing perfectly on one leg, her hands clasped behind her back. Keigo fainted dead away, finally persuading Mizuiru to tend to him (he began collecting water and smelling salts).

Class 3-1 stood all scattered throughout the room, gazing in shock at the thing that was not really Kuchiki Rukia. They could hardly begin to imagine what it really was, though there was the slinking suspicion it was simply _not _Kuchiki Rukia, no matter how it looked like her.

This was confirmed by her next actions.

"Wahhh, are they all looking at me?" She pretended to be abashed, throwing poses on the windowsill. "This body suits me great! I feel so light and fast, eheeh!" She paused for a moment. "But, there's an awful lack of boys in here. Or at least, attractive ones."

The boys closest to the window and, therefore, of best hearing, flinched much like Keigo at this blunt honesty. The mod soul sighed as she scanned the contents of the room, until—_there_. Almost unnoticeable, quietly tucked away in the corner hiding his face with a book, but she definitely saw him—because he saw her. He was darting discreet glances to her way, calculated-like, his eyes shrouded in handsome _mystery _behind a pair of dashing glasses.

He was taken with her! How he kept on looking at her so, like he couldn't take his eyes away! The mod soul squeaked happily and leapfrogged five desks, hopped two, and landed on that very same desk. The boy was alarmed now. This obviously hadn't been calculated.

Keigo vaguely stirred. "What's going on—ehh." He saw Kuchiki Rukia, coyly situated on the desk of a boy, but not just any boy. "K-k-kuchiki-san and—Ishida—" His head flopped to the floor again.

"Hello!" The mod soul purred. She was knelt down, leaning forward in an earnest sort of way as the boy, completely horrified, leaned back as far as possible in his seat without falling back.

No, actually, he fell back. And began crawling away.

"Wait, pyon! You're just my type!" She jumped off the desk, frog-style, and straddled his sides. The boy struggled frantically, but the soul's legs seemed to be made of steel—they wouldn't budge off him.

"Please let me die now." The boy fainted, gurgling.

The door burst open. The soul saw Ichigo.

"Uguu!" Not-Rukia jumped up and away from the door (the boy lay limply there, scandalized by the fact that the cool image he had taken years to develop had just been utterly shattered). She turned around, and saw Rukia land neatly on the open windowsill. Her sword was still unsheathed, and she was breathing rather heavily, some of her own wounds from the last battle having reopened. "I thought something seemed wrong. Give it up…"

The soul, carrying Rukia's body with her, bolted past her and leapt out.

As Rukia gaped and watched the impending doom of her mortal body (and therefore life), Ichigo shut his eyes and rubbed his temples. "I thought so," he groaned. "A mod soul." Like a miracle, Rukia's body did not break into tiny Rukia pieces, but instead, simply absorbed the shock to the legs like it was nothing and bounded off again.

"Mod soul?" The upset look on Rukia's face grew as Ichigo went on, the pair running side by side and following in the vague direction they had seen Rukia's body take off before disappearing over some buildings in the innercity. Soul Society was increasingly looking less and less like the semi-heaven Ichigo had once described. "But…that…" She faltered. It almost seemed too horrific to comprehend.

Ichigo looked away. "Yeah, well, we're not too proud of it either." He sighed. "It was before my time. I don't really know what to do, but the best thing is to capture the mod soul before it does any more damage. Though it doesn't look that dangerous, honestly."

Rukia started at the reminder. "But all that noise in the classroom! What was going on in there? Did you manage to get a glimpse before I arrived?"

Ichigo recalled the thin, pale and unconscious nerd the mod soul had been straddling. The nerd had been foaming at the mouth in despair. "Uh, not really."

The mod soul was currently bounding atop a few buildings in a market square. She beamed as onlookers pointed straight at her, and jumped higher. "Ufuu, they're all looking at me, they must be so impressed!!"

Two young boys pointed straight up at her. "Panty shot."

-----

Rukia stood by awkwardly as Ichigo asked around the open-market street, asking none too respectfully (at one point he deservedly earned a few sharp raps on the head from an elderly woman hovering protectively over her tarp of oranges and melons) for a 'high school girl who jumps very high.' A few tittered and blushed at hearing the words, but were unable to explain what direction she had gone, and in the end, Ichigo found that neither his hardball detective noir mystery interrogation method ("_Where _are you getting these comics?" Rukia asked in bewilderment) nor his Kuchiki-imitation respectful methods garnered much of anything in way of info.

Rukia was having troubles of her own just standing there, invisible as she was. She flinched every time someone walked through her. A few times, someone flinched back, and stared for a moment at exactly where she stood—they shared a one-sided staring contest, and the stranger would merely shake their head and move on. Rukia would have perhaps reflected more on this, but she had never really been in the busy downtown areas before, and discreetly took her pleasure at seeing so many people and so many shops. She would've liked to go into some of them.

"Useless!" Ichigo threw up his hands. "_And _I got suckered into buying a sweet melon. Want some?"

Rukia faced Ichigo with a surprisingly serious look on her face. "That mod soul… it's confused, isn't it? All this…it's seeing for the first time. And my body…it's never had a body before."

Ichigo regarded Rukia narrowly. "Yeah, that's all true."

Rukia looked down at the ground. "Is it so dangerous, then, that we have to hunt it down?"

Ichigo jumped slightly instead at the cell phone vibrating in his pocket. A hollow was to appear in 5 minutes.

The mod soul was first attracted to the arcade from the loud noises and throngs of children—the most easily impressionable, she had quickly gathered— yelling and shouting in delight or anger or urgency (these humans were hard to decipher, too simple and savage in mental compacity to differentiate between one emotion or the other) at a motion screen, little pixels of characters running around in a game combat simulation. Cute.

The variety of bright lights and blips of noise were overwhelming. Bright-eyed, the not-really-Rukia wandered down the crowded aisles of machine after machine, enthused by the enthusiasm all around. There was no real room to showcase her incredible talent, but she was not entirely bothered, instead choosing to absorb the bright shiny colorful loud new things around her with a happy pinkish glaze in her expression.

No one seemed to pay her any mind as she stared from behind crouched shoulders. One boy did a quick victory dance, spinning and bouncing and hitting the buttons to an inaudible rhythm, much to the mod soul's delight. Another boy in a leather jacket was playing some sort of a cheap, plastic imitation of a musical instrument hooked up to one of the machines, strumming coolly in a haze of cigarette smoke while a school girl leaned against the main console and watched appreciatively.

A gaggle of boys younger than everyone else was huddled at a machine in the farthest corner of the room. As mod-soul Rukia approached bemusedly, they squabbled amongst themselves and at the boy sitting in the middle, at the controls.

"Let me play! Come on, you've had your turn!" The smallest one whined. A small shuffle started between the lot of them, and in the process two were shoved straight into the player. A large red X appeared on the screen.

"My character died! You idiots, it's your fault." The player huffed at a pause in the game.

The mod soul started at those words. She hadn't realized that all these simulations involved actual deaths. These humans were awfully savage and dangerous.

"Just make a new one, it's no big deal," they complained. "Hurry up!"

A small, skinny leg kicked itself directly into the large screen of the game. There was some electrical fuses cut loose inside that whined accordingly in a dangerous and shrill manner, and the brief onset of smoke that accompanied it made a few people in the arcade scream at what appeared to be a very small bomb explosion.

Only the boys standing in front of the machine had seen the leg of an angry high school girl land into the videogame. The culprit, however, had already disappeared, and the manager of the arcade stormed out of his office and began to make his way towards the terrified boys, hands on hips.

"My good mood's ruined, pyon!" The mod soul said to herself with a heady amount of cheer as she skipped away from the arcade (forgetting to jump impressively for onlookers, though she wasn't in the mood to remember). The bouncy tone in her voice still shook some, and her hands were balled into tight fists that weren't ready to relax just yet.

And then, something else of a tremor made her hands shake more, as her head jerked up calculative in a way, in the western sky. The smell of a hollow had made itself known, and very near. So near, in fact, that all she would have to do is turn around and look back at the arcade two blocks behind her.

"Stupid," one of the boys said, his arms raised behind his head. "That manager banned us for no reason! He doesn't have any proof we did anything!"

"It wasn't even that good of an arcade," another sniffed. "Let's go back to my house and play."

The one who had been playing last at the game was less ready to let go of the recent events. "But what happened, really? It just—exploded! Like that! Bam!"

"It was probably your really bad playing."

Several explosions sounded off behind them as two buildings collapsed into each other, a few more small stores were scraped, and fire hydrants were dented and set off. People screamed and began to furiously get out of the way—whatever way.

"This hollow's not very discreet, is it?" Rukia said airily.

"Just our luck," Ichigo panted to keep up with Rukia's light and quick steps "Right in the middle of the fuckin' city!"

The hollow was bypassing scores of pedestrians and buildings full of workers for a certain smell of spirit energy. It rudely and brusquely knocked aside a few skyscrapers, and then some fruit stands, in a queer rapid slithering motion much like an insect, with its 80 or so tiny sharp legs holding up the slug-like body. There, a certain concentration of spirit energy, right by the arcade.

It was a hair's breadth away from a group of boys staring agape at the commotion behind them when Rukia unseathed her sword and had it just at the mask. A spasm twitched it away from her sword, something having hit its side with a hard-enough force.

"It's her!" One of the boys who were not completely witless with fear pointed.

"It's panty-shot girl!" Someone else from far-off shouted.

"WHAT?" Rukia shouted, hacking off a dozen of the hollow's legs in the process.

"They said 'it's panty-shot girl'," Ichigo called out.

Rukia turned furiously at the mod soul standing a bit aways, hunched over and knees bent into a fighting stance. "What sort of things have you been doing to mar the Kuchiki name?" She demanded.

"I've done nothing wrong, pyon!" The mod-soul defended. The hollow screeched. The mod soul kicked it again, and the thing flew some twenty yards into another building.

"Look here!" Rukia yelped. "You've got to stop that! There are people inside those buildings!"

"Are there?" The mod soul said dazedly. The hollow reared its ugly head up again. Rukia humphed, turning away from the mod soul to aim for the K.O. in the center of the white mask, but the mod soul once again fought faster and harder, jumping forward and kicking the hollow into the air so much like a chef with pizza dough. It was about to land on top of one of the buildings.

Rukia lowered her sword, seeing the thing already disintegrating, but the mod soul widened its eyes after a split-second. It went straight into a sprinting pace, one, two leaps up the side of the destroyed building, and kicked the thing again into the air a safe distance away.

"Are you serious?" Rukia panted. "Is she serious?" Ichigo threw up his hands. "You get the crazy body, you get the crazy mod soul! Fucking GREAT." The mod soul, smiling uncertainly and pleased with itself, was falling back down (from whence she came, dust begot dust, etc etc) into the concrete ground, one leg still lifted into kick position.

The hollow, even as its 60th tier of legs disintegrated into specks of eggy dust, was coming down with its mouth wide open at the ground below where Rukia stood with her sword lowered, gaping at the imminent doom of her own body. There was a strange sense of reverse-deja vu. She had seen this happen to her before, except it wasn't her. Technically.

"THAT'S MY BODY."

"IDIOT, FUCKING LOOK ABOVE YOU." Ichigo dove towards Rukia.

The mod soul fell haplessly to the ground, smilingly.

-----

"…My." Urahara sidestepped over a particularly large pile of rubble, making his way towards the motley crew of survivors in the midst of the hollow attack. "You certainly attract trouble wherever you go, don't you, Kurosaki-san?"

"It's not _me_," Ichigo said, sitting in a crouched position, on his hutches. "It's her. And now _that_." He jerked his head irritably at the mod soul, who had landed in a comfortable bed of elementary-school boys. They all seemed fine, though a bit dazed and unconscious (the body had landed fairly hard, so although they had caught her, their heads managed to knock together and to the ground). The mod soul stirred. Rukia was completely ignoring the intruders, staring hard at her own body, thinking.

Urahara coughed. "Yes, about that. We're very terribly sorry about this mix-up, Kurosaki-san! Apparently we mixed up the discount bin with the, er, faulty goods."

Behind him, Ururu blushed ashamedly.

"...You have a bin for discount goods." Ichigo said darkly.

"WELL WE CAME TO FIX THE PROBLEM!" Urahara proclaimed brightly, quickly changing the subject. "So we're taking back the parcel! Full refund, of course. _Terribly_ sorry." The mod soul opened its eyes, just as Urahara raised his cane, and lightly tapped its forehead.

Rukia's body slumped over the elementary-school kids once more, head lolling back onto a stomach, and a small round pill rolled out onto the sidewalk. Urahara picked it up.

"Well, let's go back now!" He announced. Jinta threw his bat on the ground in a tantrum. "What! That's it!! I thought we were gonna see action!" Ururu sniffed her assent.

Rukia looked up, alarmed, from tending to her own wound (a fresh and wincingly deep cut into her left arm, from the kill of the hollow as its fangs closed directly on her arm even as she drove the sword through its roof. "You're taking it back? The mod soul?" She looked at the strange assortment of people, children and old man and merchant. "Who are you?"

Urahara played at being coy, blushing and looking away. "Oh, Kurosaki-san, how could you not have mentioned us at all!"

Ichigo snatched the pill out of the open palm. "Because you're a crooked salesman. And anyway, I'm keeping this. I'm satisfied with my product."

Urahara looked dubious. "If there's trouble, we're not going to know anything. We can't assume responsibility."

Ichigo snorted. "Don't you worry about me, Sandal-hat. I know what I'm doing." He tossed the pill to Rukia, who caught unsteadily in the folds of her sleeves. "C'mon, let's go."

Rukia nodded dumbly. "...Thank you."

Ichigo shrugged, and walked on.

She stood there for a longer moment, looked about at the destruction all around her."Still, who's going to forget this…" And, reminded of something that had been bugging her, she looked at the building that had taken the hardest beating in the ordeal, the doors just a few feet away.

(an ant trail dotted the roof of the battered building, undisturbed from the commotion in the air around it)

-----

"So, should we find a dead body?"

"Eh, that's a bit hard to find around here in the human world. Especially in Karakura."

"I don't know what to suggest, then. You're the one who wanted to save it!"

"C-could…"

"What? Go on, get out with it."

"Is it… possible to put the pill…inside animals? Like… rabbits"

"Yeah, of course. But remember, animals have materialized souls just like humans do. It'll pop out in the pill's stead."

"_N-no_!"

"Get a grip."

"No, no, right, I have an idea. Let's go home."

**closing notes: **'adori hepuuberunu' is audrey hepburn! mad props to whoever could decipher my haphazard fake romanization. and i do think keigo has something of the doe-eyed ingénue in his features Y/N 


End file.
